


Carpe Diem 6: Storm

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-09
Updated: 2009-01-09
Packaged: 2019-05-30 22:57:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 72,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15106547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: The sixth chapter in my Carpe Diem series. Josh begins work on the TV documentary.





	Carpe Diem 6: Storm

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

  
Author's notes: Title: Carpe Diem 6: Storm  
Author: Sue C  
Spoilers: None to speak of  
Pairing: Josh/Sam  
Rating: N-17  
Disclaimer: I know they belong to Aaron Sorkin/Warner Brothers, but I can't resist having a little creative fun with these boys. I'll give them back when I'm done. David Strachan, Megan Hammond and other minor characters are of my own devising.  
Summary: The sixth chapter in my Carpe Diem series. Josh begins work on the TV documentary.  
Notes: This chapter continues story arcs started in previous chapters. For anyone needing a reminder of Sam's cause to free the protestors imprisoned in Brazil, please go to Carpe Diem 1 and Carpe Diem 2: Learn from the Past, Live in the Present; the TV documentary is first mentioned in Carpe Diem 5: One Hundred Per Cent. As ever, a huge thank you to Kathi for her support throughout the writing of this new chapter, but most specifically for suggesting a major plot line.  
Archive: Carpe Diem chapters 1 to 5 is archived at  
http://national-library.net Anywhere else, just let me know.  
Feedback : Please, even if you hate it, as long as it's constructive.  


* * *

Carpe Diem 6: Storm

The living room was quiet except for the tap, tap, tap of my keyboard. Occasionally a distant siren would sound from downtown DC, but quickly fade away. It was one of those evenings in high summer: hot, still, humid; when only the slightest breeze wafted through the open window. Every so often I’d glance up from my place on the couch where I sat with my laptop on the low table in front of me and look over at Josh, totally absorbed in the report he was reading. A couple of times he looked up at the same time and caught my eye. His mouth curved into a smile, making me think that these are the times I love, the kind that don’t happen often enough because we're usually busy at the White House until late evening. There’s something so companionable about being at home with Josh; both of us engrossed in our work yet at the same time aware of the other’s presence. I returned Josh’s smile and reluctantly dragged my attention back to the speech that I was working on.

‘America must face the challenge of protecting the country from terrorism both foreign and domestic yet at the same time preserve those civil liberties that the Founding Fathers held so dear. For them, America wasn’t just a country, a landscape, it was a concept, a philosophy ... ‘ 

I sighed and deleted the paragraph I’d started. ‘Challenge’ was too weak; the part about the Founding Fathers’ idea of America was a cliché. The President was going to give this speech to representatives of both the security services *and* civil rights lawyers, a gathering that Toby had suggested to the President as a means of opening up the debate on security versus the rights of American citizens. It was a dialogue that many world leaders had shrank from in their own countries, so the President’s decision to go ahead with this was brave on so many levels. Having been given the lead responsibility for crafting the speech was making me nervous and I seriously doubted that I could hit the right note that would satisfy everyone. Throwing my head back against the sofa I mulled over the thought that maybe that was the problem, maybe I couldn't satisfy the beliefs of either end of the spectrum. The acceptance of the middle ground might be the best I could hope for. Letting this thought settle I leaned forward again and, glancing at the time in the corner of my computer screen I saw it was 10:58. I decided to call it a day. Hoping that Josh felt the same I saved my document, shut down my laptop and snapped shut the lid shut. I looked to see if it had grabbed his attention. 

It hadn’t.

“Josh.”

No response. He had a little frown on his face and I could tell by the set of his mouth that he was unhappy with what was written on the page he was reading. For over a year now he’d been working on steering a transportation bill towards the House and he told me last week that for every step forward there’d be another two back. The unions, the transport industry, transport user groups, environmentalists: Josh was like some frantic juggler trying to keep all the balls in the air. In other words, if he dropped one the whole legislative process would come crashing down. As soon as the summer recess ended the bill would get its first reading, and this was the part where the real down and dirty political work took place - that is, the deals, the trade offs and the calling in of favors to get those all important votes. And it was close, so close that it was starting to dominate Josh‘s waking hours.

“Josh,” I said, a little more emphatically this time.

“Mm-hmm.” 

It wasn’t a proper response. I love Josh to distraction, but this is one of his faults that really irritate me. When he’s engrossed in a piece of work he can be aware of someone trying to get his attention, and yet he’ll still refuse to respond if he deems that piece of work more important. So he gives this little ‘mm-hmm’ to let you know that he’s humoring you when he actually has no intention of being disturbed. Okay, I thought, picking up a sheet of scrap paper lying on the table and scrunching it up into a ball. Taking careful aim I managed to make contact with the top of his head.

At last he lifted his head. “Sam!”

“Do you know how much you sound like Dick Yorke when you do that?” I asked.

“Who?” Josh’s brows knitted into an irritated little frown.

“One of the guys who played Darren in ‘Bewitched’ in the sixties,” I explained. “Remember, his wife was called Samantha and he would get really exasperated with her if he caught her practicing witchcraft.”

Josh rolled his eyes.

“And when you say ‘Sam’ like that you sound just like him,” I continued as I picked up my laptop.

“Samuel, can you remind me what you’ve been doing for the past couple of hours?” asked Josh, watching me as I attempted to maneuver my laptop into its case with one hand while I picked up papers from the desk with the other.

“Working on the President’s speech for the Security versus Liberty Symposium. Why?”

“ ‘Cos for a minute there I forgot you were a Princeton educated member of the Bartlet administration,” Josh said caustically.

“There’s nothing wrong with having a knowledge of popular culture, Josh. I’m not a total elitist. Anyway, I used to watch the reruns when I was a kid. My cousin Sadie could twitch her nose just like Samantha - you know, just the tip of her nose.”

“You mean like this?” Josh called from the doorway, executing a perfect twitch of his nose just the way Elizabeth Montgomery used to do.

I burst out laughing. “Josh! I didn’t know you could do that!”

“Oh, there’s still a lot you don’t know about me, sugar,” Josh called back as he made his way down the hallway to our bedroom. I sighed as I noticed he was still holding the report he’d been reading, figuring I’d have to wrestle it out of his hands if he were to get to sleep at an almost reasonable time.

The mocking tone in his voice bothered me not one bit. In fact, I was pleased to hear it. He’d been working so hard and this week he’d had to tear himself away from the transportation bill in order to accompany the President on a trip to New York. He’d been there since Wednesday, returning Friday evening. The work to elicit support for the bill’s debut in Congress was planned to begin in the next week, so I managed to persuade Josh to put it to one side for the weekend, give himself a chance to recharge his batteries before the pressure really started to bite. The First Lady had insisted on whisking the President off to the farm at Manchester as soon as he returned from New York, so I got Leo on side to persuade him to give us a rarely granted weekend off in a Washington grown quiet in the summer heat and the relative lull in political activity. And until early that Sunday evening my plan had worked. Friday evening we’d spent at home; Saturday we drove out to the country to take in a farmer’s market, in the evening dinner in an intimate little Italian restaurant. Sunday we stayed in bed late, ate breakfast, read the papers and in the afternoon watched the far superior British version of Queer as Folk on DVD. Oh, and I missed out the bits in between all these activities when we indulged in sex that varied from slow and tender to mind-blowingly hot, sticky and sensational.

But of course by Sunday evening Josh had started to get restless. It was just after eight and we were curled up on the couch, the detritus from our recently consumed Chinese take out scattered on the coffee table. I could see him casting longing glances towards his backpack that lay in the corner of the living room. I tried to distract him by nibbling his ear lobe as he lay against my chest, but that didn’t stop him shifting around on the sofa, not from arousal but rather the lure of the papers that the bag presumably contained.

“Sam ... “ he’d said, drawing my name out in a wheedling sort of way.

“Mmm?” I tried to pin him down by draping my leg across his lap, but it didn’t work as he shoved it away.

“Do you think I could ... read something ... just for an hour or so?” He was sitting up straight now looking at me with those irresistible brown eyes and a sly little grin on his face. “Please?”

I groaned. “Josh, this weekend was supposed to be for some ‘us’ time *and* to give you a rest before next week. You know what it’ll be like. You’ve got the bill coming up and those TV people to see about the documentary, as well as a million other things.”

“C’mon, Sam, you know how tense I get when my mind keeps reminding me there’s a piece of work lying there that needs a little attention. Besides ... ” he touched my face with his fingertips then ran his thumb along my lower lip, “you don’t want all your efforts to relax me this weekend go to waste. I’ll just get jumpy and I won’t sleep.”

Knowing full well a master of the craft was manipulating me - and besides, what could I do when Josh’s voice went all soft like that and he looked at me in such a captivating way - I decided resistance was useless.

“Okay,” I acquiesced. “But only for an hour, then we watch the news and get to bed by ten. After all I promised ... “

I stopped as I realized my mouth was running away with me.

“What?” Josh asked sharply. “You promised what to who?”

“Nothing. And that should be ’to whom’,” I muttered, trying vainly to apply some misdirection.

“Sam,” Josh said threateningly.

I stood up, turning my back as I started to pick up the food containers and chopsticks.

“Okay, okay. The First Lady. When she said she was taking the President to the farm she told me to make sure you got some proper sleep this weekend.”

“Damn it, Sam!” Josh exploded, “I’m not ill, so why won’t people stop treating me like an invalid? It’s insulting and ... and ... demeaning. I’m able to do just as much as I was before the shooting, I don’t *need* all this attention. It’s like my life’s not my own, everyone else has got a stake in it.”

As he talked I thought about what Dr Bartlet had said to me only a few days earlier, that if anything Josh was working even harder than before the shooting if that were possible. She’d also noticed how tired and washed out he’d looked, a combination of his workload and the summer humidity that was something he’d always struggled with. I sat down on the arm of the couch, depositing the trash I’d collected back on the coffee table.

“The First Lady’s a doctor, Josh,” I explained, somewhat unnecessarily. “A good one.” 

“Yeah, no wonder Leo gave us the weekend off - she ... “

He stopped as the unwavering respect with which he regarded the President and Dr Bartlet kicked in.

“The First Lady,” he corrected himself, “probably ordered him to.”

“Everyone wants what’s best for you, Josh.” I was trying to be placatory. I hated that our near perfect weekend looked like it was going to end in a row.

“That’s just it. What about *me* knowing what’s best? No one understands what it’s like being me, they just don’t get it.” He shook his head, running his hand through his hair. “Oh, what’s the use. Get me my wheelchair would you - I can’t work sitting here.”

I pushed his wheelchair over to the couch, leaving him to organize himself as I resumed cleaning up. I retreated to the quiet of the kitchen, busying myself disposing of the debris from dinner and loading the dishwasher. As I went about my chores I reflected on the issues Josh and I had addressed either together or individually since the shooting. Slamming shut the dishwasher I began to tick them off in my mind.

Josh finally being convinced that he could still hack it as Deputy Chief of Staff? Check.

Josh being independent - drive a car, live in his own apartment, move around the White House and all the other government buildings in DC? Check.

Me managing to come to terms with the fact that there wasn’t going to be some miracle surgery or a monumental breakthrough in stem cell research? Check.

Finding out that our relationship was stronger and better than ever? Check.

Working through the issues of intimacy and sex? Well, a partial check because Josh still suffered from periods of insecurity and worry over whether I was really satisfied. But we talk it through and boy, were we having fun finding out just how many alternative ways there are of turning each other on.

The list went on until I came back to the matter in hand - the fact that not only I but all our friends kept an eagle eye on Josh in case he over-taxed himself. Well, I say all our friends save one. I’m sure Toby cares about Josh but he never, ever joins in this collective ‘worrying about Josh’ mentality. Maybe he’s the one who ‘gets it‘ as Josh would say, although never having broached the subject I wouldn’t know. But I was damned if I was going to stop being vigilant. Josh had always tried to disguise the fact that he felt weary or unwell, I think he viewed it as a sign of weakness. But since the shooting and his health had become a very real matter for concern, his attitude had hardened even further, like he was over-compensating. It’s as if he thinks that as a wheelchair user he has to prove to everyone that he’s never ill, never gets tired. 

So the top and bottom of it is that as long as he’s cavalier about his health, there are others who’ll do the job for him. And that’s exactly what we’ll continue to do, whatever he says.

By the time I went back into the living room Josh was immersed in his reading. I placed his cup of coffee on the table and, deciding that since Josh was the one who’d closed the subject under discussion, I might as well do something useful I collected my laptop from the desk in the corner. Silently I sat down on the couch, put my computer on the table and opened the file entitled “Security & Liberty.” By the time ten minutes had elapsed I was engrossed.

“Sam?”

I looked up. Despite the fact that he’d called my name, Josh wasn’t meeting my eyes. He took a breath before speaking.

“I shouldn’t have reacted like that. I apologize.”

“You know, Josh, I realize - *we* realize - that we can never fully comprehend what it’s like being disabled. We don’t know how it feels to be walking around one day, then the next to be para ... “ I stopped. Josh and I were accustomed to talking freely about his disability but I suddenly thought my words were too brutal.

“No, go on,” he said, “I can take it. I’m a big boy you know.”

“Okay.” I leaned my chin on my hands, my elbows resting on my knees. “I can only imagine what it’s like to have someone say that you’ll never walk again, to have to accept never being able to run up a flight of stairs, go jogging, ride a bike. We can‘t ever know what it‘s really like being Josh Lyman: wheelchair user, any more than you can ever know what it‘s really like being CJ Cregg: female in a predominantly male world. But I’ll bet if you thought she was being discriminated against you wouldn’t think twice about passing an opinion on what she should do about it.”

“You’re a son of a bitch, Seaborn, you know that?” Josh asked, his mouth curving into a half smile.

“But I’m right, aren’t I?” I retorted. “I accept I should have told you we were concerned but I’ll bet you wouldn’t have listened. And it *did* mean we had a good time this weekend, didn’t it?”

“Come here,” ordered Josh. 

I stood up then dropped to my knees next to his wheelchair so that our faces were level. Josh put both hands on the back of my head and kissed me soundly, then pulled me close so that our cheeks touched.

“I’m cranky and impatient and I bite your head off, but I love you Sam, and I know you act out of love for me.”

“I know,” I replied. I lifted my head, cupping my palm against his face. “Now, don’t you have some work to do?”

And that’s how we ended up working until almost 11 pm, rather than the hour I’d originally stipulated. It was worth giving way on that if it meant that in the future Josh would be more accepting of my concerns about his health. This was the thought going through my head as I closed the window in the living room, thinking that it would be good to get to bed and curl up next to Josh until the alarm went off at the unearthly hour of five o’clock. I picked up my briefcase; as I slid the papers inside my fingers brushed against an envelope. Pulling it out of the case I walked over to the living room door, listening for any sound that would indicate what Josh was doing. I heard the toilet flush then water running. I knew that Josh would go straight to bed after that so I gently closed the door, pulling out the sheet of paper from its envelope as I walked back to the center of the room. The notepaper was headed up with the State Department logo, but the letter itself was handwritten. It had been hand delivered to my office on Friday and I still hadn’t decided what to do about the request it contained.

Sam - 

I owe you big time for the way you tried to help back in January, but I don’t know who else to turn to. I’m doing this unofficially and if my boss finds out I’m screwed, but here goes anyway. Last week I met with Graham Vogel’s parents. Apparently conditions in the prison are no better and it turns out he’s planning to go on hunger strike. He’s desperately worried about Alison and the guys from the village - he figures this is the only way he can get anyone to take any notice of what’s happening. 

I know you went way out on a limb the way you tried to intercede when they were sent to prison but John and Carolyn are frantic. All I’m asking is for you to meet with them and hear what they’ve got to say. If you decide you can’t take it any further, then so be it. But we’re talking about American citizens and three other people who’ve lost their land and heritage and are paying the price for trying to prevent that happening. 

If you want to meet call me on my cell phone - you’ve got my number. We’d really appreciate anything you could find it in your heart to do.

Regards

Richard

I was in a quandary. I wanted to help, but I’d been no earthly use when I’d tried to get the President’s help earlier this year. Graham Vogel and Sarah Jakes had been found guilty of attempting to sabotage the Brazilian government’s efforts to appropriate the land of a tribe who lived on the edge of a rainforest, although I’d have designated their actions as civil disobedience. Along with three members of the tribe they’d each been sentenced to ten years in jail. I’d wanted to persuade the President to intercede directly, but relations with Brazil and the fact that a US mining company were involved had led Josh and Toby to convince me this wouldn’t be the best move. They’d pinned their hopes on the election of a new, more liberal Brazilian president, so all I was able to do was lend some support to a series of fairly low level petitions from the State Department to the Brazilian government. That was where my friend Richard came in. Like me he’d started to become more personally involved, however when, to everyone’s surprise, the sitting President was re-elected there was little else he could do in his official capacity. Hence the letter asking for my help.

With a sigh I put the paper back in the envelope before tucking it back into my briefcase. Whenever I had a personal problem my usual instinct was to talk it through with Josh. A couple of times over the weekend I’d almost opened the subject but something stopped me. It wasn’t that I was being deliberately deceitful by even considering meeting the Vogels, it was the fact that Josh would try to dissuade me. He was sympathetic to the plight of all those involved and if he’d been in any other job I felt sure he’d have been actively campaigning for their release himself. But he’s a politician through and through and he knows where his loyalties lie. He can always join up the dots to read the bigger picture; see how one course of action impacts on another. In this case he saw it not just from the perspective of an injustice but from the diplomatic and economic angle too. Josh and I were so in tune on many levels - politically, emotionally, physically - and yet there were still times when a discordant note would sound. On the one hand it’s what helps keep our relationship so interesting, so alive, but on the other introduces a tension that sometimes makes me fear for the consequences.

I turned off the light as I left the room. The reflection of a car’s headlights on the wall reminded me I’d forgotten to close the drapes. Before pulling them shut I looked out at the dark velvety blue of the sky. Even with the light pollution of the city I could make out a few stars, making me wonder what the inmates in that Brazilian prison could see from their cells. I thought about the life I led: a relatively well paid career that I loved; good friends I could rely on; a partner who loved me as much as I loved him. I jerked the drapes shut, turned away from the window and walked to the bedroom.

“You took your time,” said Josh. He was sitting on the bed half undressed. “You were the one who wanted us to have an early night.”

I was so tempted to reveal to Josh just what I’d been doing that I opened my mouth to tell him about the letter. But I don’t know why, something told me to keep it to myself.

“I was packing my briefcase - there were a few papers I needed.” I didn’t meet Josh’s eye as I walked past him into the bathroom. I felt a little twinge as the white lie left my lips, but I resolved to tell him the truth once I’d decided what to do. In the time it took me to brush and floss I’d convinced myself that this was the best course of action. By the time I’d finished all I could think of was lying down with Josh, the both of us dead to the world until the alarm sounded.

Until I went back into the bedroom, that is. I stopped in my tracks at the sight that met me, all thoughts of sleep flying out of my head.

Josh was lying on his stomach, propped on his elbows reading the report he’d started earlier that night. The cotton sheet that was our only covering in the July heat was draped over him, only just concealing his butt. The curve of Josh’s shoulders and back displayed the strength and firmness of his upper body; I shivered inside as I gazed at that place where his auburn curls brushed his neck. 

But the amazing thing was the fact that Josh was totally oblivious to the way he looked. I knew that he wasn’t making any attempt to turn me on by displaying himself to me for my gratification. And it was for this reason that I felt an overwhelming urge to simply touch him, kiss him, show him how much I loved him. I didn’t even think about my own satisfaction in this. In that moment all I wanted was to give Josh Lyman as much pleasure as was possible from one human being to another. So without a word I undressed as quickly as I could and slipped under the sheet next to him. 

“Mmm,” I murmured as I kissed the back of his neck. 

Josh continued reading

“You want to go to sleep?” he asked. “I’ll just finish this paragraph then I’ll turn off the light.”

I stroked his back with the lightest of touches, then continued with the kisses: behind his ear, on his neck, down to his shoulder. He turned his head sharply away from his reading.

“Sam?”

I ran my hand through his hair - God, it was so soft! - as I kissed him, open mouthed, between his shoulder blades.

“Do you know how gorgeous you look, just lying there?” I asked. My voice was husky with the yearning for him. I lifted my head to see a raised eyebrow.

“Are you trying to seduce me, Mr Seaborn?” Josh asked in his best Dustin Hoffman-playing-Benjamin Braddock voice.

“If you want me to,” I whispered.

“You’re insatiable, you know that?” he asked.

I nibbled his earlobe. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Josh raised a hand and began counting off on his fingers. “First, I got back home Friday night and you hardly waited for me to get through the door before you tore my clothes off.”

“I didn’t hear you complaining and if I remember correctly my clothes weren’t entirely intact either,” I retorted.

“Second , we made love in amongst the croissant crumbs after we had breakfast in bed on Saturday.”

I ran my fingers down Josh’s arm. “If my memory serves me correctly you initiated that,” I mumbled.

Josh gasped slightly as he responded when I nuzzled into his neck, sucking gently but being careful not to leave a hickey. 

“Third, what about last night in the restaurant?” he asked. “We were lucky to get home without you having us both arrested, not to mention disturbing the neighbors.”

I shifted my position to whisper in his ear. “And fourth, how about this afternoon you got so horny we made out on the living room floor?”

Josh gave a snigger, turning his attention back to that damned report. “I need to finish this then I think we really should get some sleep.”

“Whatever.” My lips followed the curve of his spine, my fingers traced random patterns down the side of Josh’s body. I heard an imperceptible quickening of his breath, which would have gone unnoticed to anyone who wasn’t as intimately aware of his smallest reactions. Next I felt him tense up, followed by a series of slight tremors rippling through him. Gotcha! I thought as I heard the report hit the floor with a thud and felt Josh move beneath me.

“C’m here,” he growled as he rolled over onto his back.

I moved up the bed, one leg on either side of Josh as I looked down at him. I stroked my fingers through his hair where it curled over his ears, bending my head to kiss him as gently as I could. I didn’t want this to be rough and purely physical. Some sort of deeper feeling was overwhelming me, some need to communicate to Josh the depth of my love. I pulled back to see the warmth of those expressive brown eyes.

“This isn’t just sex, Josh,” I said quietly. “I want you to understand ... to see ...“

I couldn’t go on, so instead I kissed him again, searching out the sweet taste of Josh’s mouth. I cupped his face with my palm, my thumb finding the cleft in his chin. I’d always thought those two parts of our bodies were such a perfect fit, like they were made for each other, summing up the truism that we were always meant to be together. As I pressed my lips against his throat Josh made a series of small sounds, the pitch of his voice rising slightly. My fingers trailed a path down his chest; I slid myself down the length of his upper body, lightly touching the scar that for me had become a symbol of survival and the sheer cussedness of Josh in hanging onto life against almost insuperable odds. He squirmed beneath me, moaning and laughing as I sucked at a nipple, running my tongue across the sensitive tissue. 

“My God ... Sam,” Josh crooned, his stomach muscles twitching as I licked my way down his abdomen. “A bit lower … oh, please … oh yes, yes … there, that’s it,” Josh whispered

It’s at a place just above Josh’s groin where he begins to lose sensation., and there’s a very particular spot he loves to be kissed before that point is reached. For some reason it drives him into an ecstasy of feeling, so I spent a few minutes indulging him before deciding I could do even better than that. I moved my attentions upwards until the tip of my tongue found his belly button. I began teasing the small knot of skin.

“Sam ... that’s incre ... “ His voice trailed off into a string of inarticulate whimpers as my tongue delved further. The more I licked and probed, the louder Josh got until eventually he screamed out, arching his back, pushing the heels of his hands against the bed to give him some purchase. At the same time I felt my cock getting harder as my own body responded to the pleasure I was deriving from turning Josh on.

“God ... yes!” With one last shout Josh came, his body suddenly relaxing against the bed, his limbs limp, his breathing sounding in short, sharp gasps. I raised my head and looked at him as he lay there, his eyes shut, a happy half smile on his face. Not for the first time I marveled at the full upper body orgasm that could be induced by the mysterious fusion of the physical, emotional and mental stimulii. 

“You liked that?” I asked, lowering my body against Josh’s. Despite my earlier resolve to dedicate this session of love making to the pursuit and achievement of Josh Lyman’s happiness alone, I was painfully aware of the throbbing between my legs that this activity had resulted in. I contented myself with the contact I was maintaining with Josh, covering his face and neck with the tiniest of kisses as he trembled in the aftermath of his climax. His breathing gradually slowed, accompanied by a series of satisfied little moans. 

“Very much,” he finally managed to reply. “It was ... dammit, Sam, it was unbelievable. But I think ... “

He slid his hand between our two bodies.

“ ... you need a little attention here yourself.”

I raised myself up to let him move his position to give him some access. He looked at me hungrily.

“You’re magnificent, Sam. Really, you are.”

“Joshua,” I moaned as I pressed myself against him, his hand touching my ass. He stroked his fingers down my crack until he located my perineum. I almost shrieked as he began caressing it. I bore down on Josh’s body, grinding my erection against him as he almost made my senses explode with the stimulus his fingers provided.

It didn’t take long as the sight and sound of Josh’s own orgasm had made me good and ready. Our bodies rocked together as I cried and moaned, listening to Josh whispering words that spoke of love and passion. I was almost scared to acknowledge how perfectly content and fulfilled I was, as if that would somehow be bad luck on this precious relationship we shared.

Afterwards I lay in the dark, Josh enfolded in my arms. The drapes were open and the silvery moonlight played across Josh’s peaceful face. I sighed happily, reflecting on the way our weekend had culminated so sweetly and once again thought of the contrast between my life and that of the people described in Richard’s letter. I was so blessed - what harm could it do to try to help? Surely I owed it to those people less fortunate than myself? As I closed my eyes I resolved to contact Richard to set up a meeting with the Vogels. But I wouldn’t tell Josh. Not yet. He was so busy with the transportation bill and meeting with the TV people. I opened my eyes again and leaned down to kiss the top of his head. He didn’t need to be bothered by any other issues, did he? The only reason I wasn’t telling him about this was because I cared too much to let him worry about my involvement.

But if that was the case, why was I feeling so guilty?

***

Monday’s senior staff was usually at least a half hour longer than those taking place later in the week. Government doesn’t stop over the weekend and issues both major and minor can occur in those two days. For Josh and me it was something of a novelty to come in after two days where we’d been relatively sequestered in our own little world, only to discover that the world of politics had been carrying on quite nicely in our absence. Nothing earth shattering, mind you, because anything that threatened the peace and stability of the Untied States would have resulted in a phone call from Leo. But there were a few things simmering nicely: a narrowly averted coup in a small central African kingdom; a medium-sized judder on the Tokyo stock exchange; a threat by France’s air traffic controllers to stage a twenty-four hour strike. All of these resulted in some fairly lively but non-contentious discussions. It had gotten to the stage where we’d given our own updates on work in progress, making me think the meeting would be brought to a close relatively quickly. At least until we got to CJ’s slot.

“ … and tomorrow I have my first meeting with the producer of Josh’s documentary,” she was concluding. I looked over at Josh to see him wince slightly at her reference, but he managed to keep quiet. “And that’s it.”

We all looked expectantly at Leo and waited to be dismissed. Yes, I know we’re all members of the senior staff working for the President of the United States, but when it comes down to a meeting with Leo McGarry we revert to being high school kids. But instead of the usual “Okay, that’s it, now let me get on with some work,” he settled back in his chair.

“What do you know about that new facility for animal testing they’re building at the university?” he asked.

Leo would have been aware that there was no reason for us to be fully briefed on it as this was an issue for the city of Washington DC rather than a federal one. Nevertheless, enough controversy had ensued that meant we weren’t exactly oblivious to some of the issues.

“The anti-vivisection lobby have been demonstrating,” I ventured.

“Quelle surprise,” muttered Josh. I glanced over at him but his head was bent over his papers. We hadn’t discussed it, but I was getting some sort of vibe from him.

“And there’ve been some threats to university staff from the more militant wing of the anti-animal testing people,” I added.

“Not to mention the building contractors and their families,” added Toby. “But apart from that there’s not much else to say. Are we being asked to take a position on it?”

What Toby was really asking was whether the White House and therefore the President had any position on the matter. For myself I knew that current legislation gave the pharmaceutical companies and academic organizations the right to conduct medical testing on animals as long as it complied with the standards laid down. End of story. In the final analysis this was an argument between the research bodies involved and any pressure groups that opposed them, unless things got really nasty and it became an issue of national security. However, I could tell by the slight frown on Leo’s face that this wasn’t a matter of giving CJ the task of making some sort of bland statement in response to a question posed on a quiet news day.

“When the President’s daughter is conducting research that involves a degree of animal testing, people might seek to involve us,” he said. “”We need to be ready for the question to be asked.”

“But she works at Johns Hopkins, she’s not coming to this new facility,” pointed out CJ. “Or is she?”

Leo shook his head. “No, but the groups involved might decide to use her as part of the argument, either as a stick to bash the President or as proof that they have his support.”

“Hang on a minute,” I said, rubbing my eyes. I was finding it difficult to understand where this was going. “How will an anti-vivisectionist group use the President’s daughter who is involved in testing on animals as a means to show they have his support?”

Toby smiled slightly. “Promise me you’ll never use that sentence in writing without breaking it up into clauses and deploying actual punctuation.”

I was just about to form a response when Josh interrupted me.

“I guess what you mean is that some sort of pro-testing lobby has gotten into the mix?”

Leo pointed a finger at him approvingly. “Right. So to avert a potential PR disaster and to give us an idea of both sides of the argument when we’re briefing I want you, CJ, to meet with representatives of both sides.”

“What? In the same room?” she asked, a little tartly I thought.

“CJ,” said Leo in a warning tone of voice. “Set up a meeting with each group – separately – and see if you can find out where they’re going with this. Try and gauge if they’re going to involve Ellie as a bargaining chip.”

CJ didn’t say another word, just shuffled her papers and sighed.

“You wanna say something?” asked Leo.

“It’s just … “ she lifted her hand and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “Much as I deplore any extremist activities, I can see where the anti-vivisectionists are coming from.”

I looked over at Toby who in turn was looking at CJ with a little more intensity than before. I guessed he felt, like me, surprise that CJ would take this stance. To my knowledge she’d never struck me as someone who had any great love for animals. Sure, she ticked all the right boxes in terms of wanting to protect the environment and I suppose by default its non-human inhabitants, but when it came to something like this I imagined she’d have had a more pragmatic approach.

“Go on,” Leo probed.

CJ seemed to struggle for a few moments before answering. “I guess I’m not comfortable that animal testing is entirely ethical, even when it’s in the interests of medical science.”

“You do realize how many people benefit from the drugs and the technology that’s developed as a result of testing on animals?” Josh cut in sharply. “And I’m not just talking about treating serious illnesses. Don’t tell me you’ve never taken a painkiller for a headache? Or some sort of cold remedy? How do you think any of those things got past the FDA?”

“Oh, and since when did you become such a fan of Big Pharma?” CJ shot back at him.

Josh sat up straighter in his wheelchair, a clear sign that he was becoming combative. “Let’s say I’m a fan of medical science since it prevented me from bleeding to death, kept my major organs functioning and stopped me from getting any amount of post-operative infections.” 

The room had gone very quiet. We were accustomed to CJ letting us know her personal feelings on issues such as women’s rights but this felt entirely new, as if we were seeing a side to CJ that we hadn’t seen before. Add to this Josh’s own very personal slant on things and the tension in the room suddenly escalated.

“Leo, I can take the meetings if you want,” I ventured. For myself I didn’t exactly like the idea of using animals for our own benefit, but I also recognized that this was often unavoidable. So while I hoped that one day computer technology and the use of synthetic cells would make animal testing a thing of the past, I concluded that at present we had to live with it.

“No,” Leo said forcefully. “CJ will take the meetings. Maybe she’ll learn something.”

He picked up the folder in front of him, put on his glasses thereby letting us know he was brooking no further argument. “Okay, that’s it people.”

We stood up and began filing out of the room. As had become customary Josh waited until we’d all moved towards the door before maneuvering his own way around the furniture. I’d just gotten my hand on the door handle when Leo’s voice floated over.

“CJ, let me know when you’ve arranged those meetings - I know you’ve got a lot of work coming up with Josh’s documentary … ”

He didn’t manage to get any further with the sentence. Josh’s voice made us stop in our tracks and turn around

“Okay, that’s it.” Josh had one hand to his forehead as he spoke loudly – a little too loudly, in my opinion. I glanced over at Leo waiting for him to tear a strip off Josh for interrupting him.

Leo rolled his eyes. “What now?”

“I beg of you please,” said Josh, “for the love of God will you all stop referring to that TV program as ‘Josh’s documentary’? It’s not my documentary, it’s a TV documentary that I happen to be appearing in. It’s bad enough them using me to give the thing some sort of focus without personalizing it like that.”

Toby was looking up at the ceiling, CJ had suddenly found the carpet to be of riveting interest and I was concerned at the way Josh had slid his hands under his thighs so they were concealed between his legs and the cushion of his wheelchair. I knew it was a trick he’d developed to stop them shaking. Josh was normally the most self-assured person I knew, but on rare occasions he would show how vulnerable he sometimes felt about his disability. The tremor in his hands was a sign I’d learnt to recognize, even though to most people it was probably unnoticeable. His eyes flicked over to me; he shrugged slightly as if to say “But I’m right, aren’t I?” I gave a small smile and hoped he would interpret it as being encouragingly supportive. He must have hated broaching this; he couldn’t bear the thought of anyone thinking he deserved special treatment now he was a wheelchair user.

Leo looked at Josh for a couple of seconds. “Yeah,” he said quietly, “whatever you say, Josh. It’s your call.”

Josh let out a sigh and grinned. “Thanks. I don’t mean to be over-sensitive but … “

“It’s okay.” Leo lifted a hand. “I understand … we understand, don’t we guys?”

There was a general murmur of assent then everyone left the room quietly. I didn’t want to make a big deal of what had happened but I managed to lean down to Josh to ask if he wanted to do lunch, but he shook his head “no”, saying he’d see me later. He sped off down the corridor and I walked back to the communications bullpen with CJ. She was walking very quickly – how do women manage to do that in high heels? – and I had to increase my own pace to keep up with her.

“He seems a little tetchy today,” she remarked, jerking her head behind her in the direction Josh had taken.

“CJ, he said he’d do the documentary but it doesn’t mean he has to like the idea,” I said defensively. “With everyone putting his name to it he feels as if he’s wearing it like a sign around his neck.”

“Look, if he wants to pull out he should say so before it’s too late.”

I grabbed her arm to make her stop in her tracks. “He wouldn’t do that. If Josh says he’ll do something, he’ll do it. And even if it makes him feel uncomfortable he’ll do the best job he can. Remember Lillienfield trying to bring us down over drug taking in the White House? Can you imagine how he must have felt approaching Leo the way he had to?”

I cast my mind back to that horrible time, remembering the times I’d listened to Josh as he agonized over the whole affair and the role he had to play. He was mortified at having to sit down with Leo and discuss his alcohol and drug dependency. I could remember finding him near to tears on one occasion.

“That was his job, Sam,” CJ protested. “No-one’s forcing him to do this, it’s his own choice.”

“It didn’t feel like that when you invoked the Secretary of Labor’s sponsoring the idea,” I said. “And even if that weren’t the case, Josh feels he has to do this for the people he’s met who are less fortunate than he is. So no, he won’t refuse to do it because he made a promise.”

CJ gave me a long look, then nodded.

“I apologize. That was clumsy of me. I know he’ll do it and I appreciate how difficult it must be for him.”

We resumed our journey back to Communications, but CJ hadn’t finished.

“Anyway it wasn’t only Josh’s .. . “ she stopped before correcting herself,” … the documentary I was referring to. It was the business about the animal testing. I didn’t expect him to be so wholeheartedly in favor of it.”

We’d reached CJ’s door. She pushed it open then made a beckoning gesture for me to follow her inside her office where she leaned back against the desk to face me.

“CJ, you’ve got to understand that Josh has experienced so much this past year or so that it’s bound to have an effect on some of his views. I don’t think it’s a topic we’ve ever discussed so I don’t know if he’s always felt that way about it. But when a medical team has the skills, the technology and the drugs to save your life it’s bound to have an influence. Anyway,” I pointed out, “I don’t think any of us expected you to take the stance you did.”

CJ gave a sigh as she flopped down in her chair. She waved a hand at me to indicate that I should sit too.

“I went out with this guy at Berkley. He was into the whole animal rights scene and showed me some pictures that had been taken from a lab that had been broken into. No,” she said in answer to my raised eyebrows,” he hadn’t broken the law himself, but I knew those pictures were genuine. Anyway, they were pretty awful and I went out with him for quite a while. He was totally committed and I guess some of it rubbed off on me and it never went away.”

She paused, obviously expecting me to say something.

“I guess I’m wondering why something like that would stay with you to that extent. That was a long time ago, CJ.”

“Well thanks for reminding me of my advancing years, junior,” she quipped.

“What I mean is that I find it unusual that something that affected you for a time at college should affect you doing your job. Unless ... “ I stopped, suddenly uncertain.

“Sam! No!” she almost yelled. “If you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking, no I wasn’t involved in any illegal activity, I didn’t liberate animals from a lab, I didn’t threaten any professors.”

“Okay.” I raised my hands in surrender. “I’m just saying. And I don’t want this to go bad for you if there *was* anything any of us should know about.”

“You think as press secretary I don’t know that?” she half grinned. “No Sam, there’s nothing to worry about on that score. Those photographs and listening to James all those years ago made an impression. I just have reservations about the ethics of the whole thing, but like Leo said I might learn something.”

She stopped and began studying her nails intently.

“I’m sorry I was so snippy with Josh. I didn’t think about it from his point of view.”

“I’m sure he’s fine with it,” I tried to reassure her.

“Just out of interest, where do you stand Sam? I mean, you’re our conscience where the environment is concerned.”

“Honestly?” I asked. “I wish we didn’t have to use animals for testing, but if Josh got ill and the only way to make him well would be to use drugs or technology that had been tested on animals ... well, there’s no contest. And chances are that’s what would happen. Josh is fit and well now and for a long time to come, but someone who’s had his injuries ... “

I couldn’t go on, couldn’t finish the sentence that would have let CJ know that there would always be potential health problems for Josh. CJ cleared her throat.

“I think this is getting way too personal, Sam. Let’s just park it for now, okay?”

“I’m sorry,” I said, “sorry if I embarrassed you. It’s just ... when I touch on that subject ... you know?”

I shrugged. I felt inarticulate, unaccountably emotional at the fears the conversation had stirred up. Normally they lay dormant, in that part of my mind that I could leave in the dark, unwilling to go there unless circumstance forced me to. CJ’s expression softened and she smiled.

“Don’t apologize for your feelings, Sam. Now,” she said, picking up the leather folder she habitually used to carry her briefing notes, “haven’t you got anything better to do than take up my time by gossiping?”

I turned as I stood by her door. “I’ll see you later.”

“Sam.” The smile had disappeared now. “Is Josh all right? He seemed a little on edge.”

“He’s fine,” I reassured her. “He wants to get this transportation bill right and he’s a little nervous about the documentary. But he’s fine. Really.”

She nodded. “I’ll speak to him later.”

“You bet,” I said, taking my leave.

***

Did I say Josh was a little nervous? It took us just fifteen minutes to drive home - it’s almost a pleasure to drive through DC at ten-thirty at night - and for the whole journey he kept up a running commentary. 

How his meetings had gone.

Which senators had said what.

How many votes he thought he had in the bag. 

An analysis of the latest numbers on the President’s popularity rating since the speech he’d delivered the previous week to the UN’s General Assembly. 

A critique of a judgment handed down by the Supreme Court on some obscure point of law that Josh knew next to nothing about. But that didn’t stop him, of course.

And me? I didn’t get a word in edgeways.

See, that’s how I knew he was nervous. Garrulous though he can be, Josh will usually allow me at least a couple of sentences, even if it’s just to give him the chance to demonstrate the superiority of his ideas. But when I'm subjected to a torrent of words like this I know he’s talking for one reason only: to avoid broaching the subject that’s really bothering him.

We got into the apartment and he was still talking. 

“Josh.” I managed to shoe horn his name in at a point where he drew breath. “Shut up and tell me what’s wrong.”

He looked at me warily. “There’s nothing wrong.”

I stood behind him, put my hands on his shoulders. I could feel the tension in his muscles. “Joshua.”

“I’m going to bed,” he muttered, pulling himself away.

“Talk to me Josh,” I said, following him into the bedroom. 

“In a minute,” he replied.

He disappeared into the bathroom, so I sat down and waited. When he eventually emerged he positioned his wheelchair next to the bed and slid across to sit next to me. I put my arm around him and kissed the side of his head. He leaned his body into mine as he rested his head on my shoulder.

“That feels good,” he said. His voice was just a touch louder than a whisper.

I kissed him once more. If Josh needs me like this when we’re in a work situation there’s very little I can do. We try to keep our personal relationship low key in the West Wing - hence my discomfiture at opening up to CJ earlier - and often the most I can do is give him a sympathetic smile or a quick kiss or hug when we’re behind closed doors. But here at home I love it that we can just *be*, that I can comfort him or just keep him close. I waited, not wanting to press him, until finally he spoke once again.

“I’m dreading the meeting tomorrow.” He sat up straight and looked at me with those eloquent brown eyes, eyes that looked so troubled at that point.

He had two or three meetings scheduled; he didn’t have to tell me which one he was talking about. “You know, CJ says it’s not too late if you want to pull out,” I said. 

He shook his head. “No, I won’t do that. It’s meeting the producer for the first time, this Megan someone or other. It‘ll be the first time I‘ve talked to a stranger about being shot, what it means to be paralyzed for life.”

“She’s done a lot of good work,” I reminded him. “You’ve seen that program she made about the women in Saudi Arabia and the other one with families who’ve lost children to SIDS. She must have been a stranger to them when they agreed to appear, but you could see how comfortable they were taking part.”

“I guess.” But he didn’t sound convinced.

“Some of the people you spoke to in the hospital were strangers. Other patients, Julie, your counselor.”

“That was different. The patients were in the same situation and Mark and Julie are both professionals.”

“Josh, this woman is a professional too. I’ll bet that once this first meeting’s over everything will be fine. Look at all the people you’ve handled through the years. Anyone who can bring the House Appropriations Committee to heel won’t be frightened by a TV producer.”

For the first time that night I saw the ghost of a smile. “Yeah, but I can’t threaten her with the power of the White House.”

“Just charm her, Josh. You can be very disarming, you know.” 

“I can?” He was really smiling now and I felt my insides turn over just a little.

“Smile at her like that, baby, and you’ll have her eating out of your hand,” I said. I pulled him a little closer and rubbed my hand down his arm. “Let’s go to bed.”

I used the bathroom and when I returned Josh was lying on his side, his eyes closed. I got into bed as gently as I could so as not to disturb him, but when I turned out the light and lay down he slid towards me so that we were spooned together. I curled my body around him, kissed the back of his head.

“ ‘Night, Josh.”

“Mm-hm.” He reached back to pull my arm over and around so that it encircled him, kissing my hand as he did so. In a few minutes we were asleep.

***

At first I didn’t know what had awakened me until I realized Josh was sitting up in bed. My initial thought was that he was just turning over, changing his position because he’d become a little stiff lying on his side. But then I saw he wasn’t moving at all, but was sitting hunched over with his hands covering his face. At the same time I heard him muttering to himself.

“God, no, not again.”

“Josh.” By now I was sitting up. I laid my hand flat against his back. He was hot; his skin felt slightly damp with perspiration. “Josh, what’s wrong?”

He jerked away from me and all I could think of was that he was sick, which in turn made me scared but only resulted in me sounding shrill.

“Josh!” Louder this time.

“Go back to sleep. I’m fine.” He lowered himself onto the pillows so that he was lying on his back. I turned on my side and laid a hand on his chest.

“You’re not fine. You’re shaking.” I switched on the lamp on the nightstand and the light flooding his face showed the tight set of his mouth.

“Leave it, Sam. Please.” He closed his eyes, but I didn’t for one minute think he’d go straight back to sleep. He was wound up as tight as a tic. 

“Josh, I heard you saying ‘Not again.’ Whatever it is it’s happened before. Tell me.”

His eyes snapped open and he jerked his head towards me. 

“Not tonight, Sam. Please. Can we leave it ‘til morning?”

I sighed. “If it wasn’t for the fact that it’s two in the morning and we’ve got a busy day ahead of us I’d say no we can’t. Just tell me one thing. You’re not ill, are you?”

Josh gave a crooked little smile, shook his head. “No, Sam, I’m not ill. I promise.”

“All right. But we talk about this before we get to work.” I snapped the light off.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“I mean it, Josh.” I knew my tone was sharp, but I couldn’t help myself. “Jesus, I thought we’d got beyond this shutting me out.”

“I don’t shut you out,” he protested. 

I flung myself back against the pillows. I felt helpless, knowing there were still parts of Josh Lyman that were like a closed book. “Okay, if you want to play the strong, silent type, go ahead.”

“Sam.” He rolled over towards me, touched my forearm. “Please, don’t be angry. I just need you to understand ... I can’t just ... *unburden* myself ....you know how it is.”

And I did. I knew that Josh was a scrupulously honest person, that people knew exactly what it was they were getting in terms of his beliefs, his principles, his values. But for most of his life, ever since he ran out of a burning house as a child, there’d be times when he would hide his emotions and fears as a means of self-preservation, scared that if he let other people see the hurt that he’d be diminished. But I’d begun to believe it was different with me, that he wouldn’t put the barriers up here, in our home, in our bed. 

And that’s what made me angry.

But just as quickly as it had risen I felt my annoyance subside. I laid the back of my hand against his hair. “Its fine, babe. If you want to talk I’m here. If not ... “

I left the sentence unfinished. I knew better than to persist. The more I pushed for him to open up, the more he would pull away. So I began to stroke his hair, and as I did so I sensed him becoming calmer. I let my mind wander, remembering how I’d longed to be able to comfort him like this when he lay in the hospital. Even if he didn’t always let me in these days, we were still closer than we’d ever been. And as I waited, wide awake, waiting for Josh to fall asleep, I thought about how it wasn’t the first time I’d been aware of Josh being restive during the night. I gazed down at his face. He was fast asleep, looking as if he didn’t have a care in the world. What’s going on in your head, Josh? I wondered. And as I watched him and felt my own eyes starting to droop, I determined to get to the bottom of whatever it was that had made him so anxious.

***

It was five-thirty the next morning. As I showered I remembered I’d told Josh we would talk before we got to work. I mused that Josh would probably find a way of avoiding the issue before we left for the White House. In the car he’d insist on listening to the news or discussing anything but the incident in the early hours. By the time we got to work he’d no doubt head straight for his office and call Donna in to prevent having to communicate with me. Then I remembered. No senior staff that day. The President had an early morning meeting with the Joint Chiefs of Staff and needed Leo in attendance. Perfect.

“Hey,” I shouted through to the bedroom, “seeing as we don’t have staff this morning why don’t we skip breakfast here, head straight into work for an hour or so then eat at Randall’s?”

Randall’s was a restaurant a couple of blocks from the White House. It had a nice terrace with tables and umbrellas. Leo sometimes used it for breakfast meetings.

“What d’ya think?” I stepped out of the shower and began toweling myself off. “My treat.”

Josh appeared in the doorway. “Well ... okay,” he agreed, his tone a little suspicious I thought.

“Great. It’ll give us time for a chat,” I said, trying to sound as if I didn’t have a hidden agenda yet at the same time wanting to make it clear that I hadn’t forgotten his promise that we’d talk.

I wandered into the bedroom. Josh was at the mirror, tying his blue silk tie. He was wearing a white shirt and navy suit. He seemed to have made a special effort; I guessed in honor of his meeting with the TV producer. She’d have to be dead from the neck up or gay not to respond to the way he looked. As I dressed I allowed myself the luxury of allowing my gaze to linger on his image as it was reflected back at me. There are times when I can look at Josh and it’s like I’m seeing him for the first time and falling in love with him all over again.

“You’ll knock her dead,” I told him when he turned around.

“What makes you think this is for the benefit of Megan what’s-her-name?” he asked with a sly smile. “There may be some guy I want to impress.”

He pushed himself over towards me and gently whacked my butt.

“You know, you should really should show her the courtesy of learning her surname.” I picked up my keys and wallet. I grabbed my briefcase from the living room and caught up with Josh as he settled himself into the driver’s seat of the car.

“You mean Megan Celia Hammond, grew up in Albuquerque, graduated with a degree in English from UCLA, gained a Masters in journalism from Columbia, worked for a local TV station in Minnesota before being headhunted by NBC and has for the past five years owned and run her own production company, MCee Films,” he reeled off.

I glared at him.

“Nobody likes a smart ass Josh,” I said.

He gave me a sidelong glance and that damnably smug grin

“Oh, I think you’ll find they do.”

I decided to shut up and just let him drive.  
***

I didn’t get much work done before breakfast. First I had to listen to Toby bemoaning the syntax employed by one of the staff writers, then Kathy waylaid me in the bullpen.

“Sam, what time is Josh scheduled to see the TV producer?” she asked, fixing me with a determined glare. I knew I had no chance of dodging whatever issue she had with this, but I at least I made the attempt.

“Some time this afternoon I think.” I began to walk away but she neatly sidestepped to stop me beating a path back to my office. Inwardly I admitted defeat. There’s very little I can do when one of the assistants is on a mission.

“It’s going to be really interesting to see how she decides to play it ... the producer is a ‘she’, right?” she smiled.

“Yes, I do believe it is a woman,” I concurred.

“And she’s made a bit of a name for herself covering women’s issues,” she continued.

Hah, I thought, gotcha! “If you had to confirm with me that the producer’s a woman, how come you know so much about her?”

“Oh, it was Ginger who told me she thought it was this particular woman, but I thought I’d better make sure of my facts first,” Kathy replied airily. “So anyway, I’m thinking that she’d possibly want to include some female input - she won’t just want to feature Josh and his male colleagues.”

“Kathy, the documentary features Josh but it concentrates on disability issues from a wider perspective.”

“Yes, but they *are* going to be filming in the White House and we ... that is Ginger, Bonnie and me ... we wondered if maybe ... “

“You want to appear in the documentary?” I interrupted.

“Yes!” she said triumphantly, finally getting to the point.

“Look, if she wants any of the assistants to appear in this it’ll most likely be Donna.”

Her jaw dropped. “Donna?” The hopeful smile disappeared.

“Well, she probably works more closely with Josh than anyone - she’s worked with him since the campaign ... “

“Yes, Sam, I *know*,” she said a touch caustically.

“So, that means Josh using a wheelchair has been a big change for her too. Maybe the TV people will want her to say a few words.” I looked at Kathy, noticing she didn’t look too pleased. I started to feel exasperated with this whole conversation. “Hey, what do I know?”

“It’s okay, Sam, you’ve made your point.” She turned away and began moving back to her desk. “I guess we all knew *Donna* would manage to be involved.”

“I didn’t say that,” I called after her, but she just gave me a dismissive glance over her shoulder and carried on walking. I guess I was a little surprised. I’d always assumed all the assistants to the senior staff were as thick as thieves, but from our conversation I got the impression there was some slight undercurrent of resentment underneath their group camaraderie.

“What was that all about?” Josh’s voice sounded at my elbow. I realized he must have caught the tail end of my dialogue with Kathy.

I shrugged, then smiled down at him. “Nothing for you to worry about. Come on, let’s go, I’m starving.”

When we got to the restaurant the tables on the terrace looked pretty full, but as it was the beginning of yet another hot, sunny day in DC we were keen to sit outside since we get precious little time to enjoy the fresh air in the daylight hours.

“Have you got a table for two on the terrace, Andy?” I asked the waiter who was standing at the entrance to the terrace scrutinizing the book containing that day’s bookings.

He looked up, grinning. “Mr Seaborn! Hi! Sure. This way.”

As he turned to show me to the table I could see him looking to see where my companion was. The only trouble was he was looking towards me at shoulder height, until he suddenly caught sight of Josh. That’s when I remembered that this was the first time Josh had been there since the previous summer. For a split second I detected the smallest flicker in Andy’s smile before he recovered himself.

“Mr Lyman. It’s great to see you.”

“How are you, Andy?” asked Josh.

“I’m fine, just fine.” He stopped. “I can give you that table over there in the corner ... just let me make a path for you.”

I looked back at Josh who didn’t look too bothered. By now we were accustomed to causing slight disruptions in crowded restaurants, which weren’t always the most accessible of environments. But Andy made things easy, asking people to move and shifting chairs to one side. We were nearly there when he stopped to ask one of the diners if he’d mind moving his chair to let Josh through, but instead of the guy standing up and creating enough room for Josh to pass, he sighed impatiently, stayed seated, nudged his chair an inch then carried on eating. I could see how uncomfortable Andy felt until Josh took the situation in hand. 

“I’m going to have to ask you to stand up to let me through,” he said firmly.

The guy looked around, muttered ‘Sorry’, standing and sliding the offending chair to one side to afford Josh room to maneuver.

“Thanks,” said Josh with a smile, leaving me wondering how he, of all people, managed to keep his cool in these situations.

“I’m sorry about that, Mr Lyman,” Andy said as we arrived at our table.

“There’s always one, Andy,” Josh replied, “don’t worry about it.”

“Do you want to sit in one of our chairs or ... “ Andy let the question hang in the air. It wouldn’t have been the first time Andy would have asked this. Most of the restaurants in DC have the same policy of giving wheelchair using customers the choice, but from his hesitant manner I was guessing it was the first time he’d had to ask a man he’d been accustomed to seeing swagger and strut his way through the place.

“Stay in my wheelchair?” Josh finished for him casually. “Yeah, I’ll stick with the wheelchair.”

Andy handed us our menus before going off to fetch us coffee.

“That was a little awkward,” Josh said, his head bent over the menu.

I didn’t answer, just looked at him for a few seconds.

“What?” he said when I didn’t reply. He squinted into the sun before pulling his sunglasses out of his pocket and putting them on.

“Nothing.” I wanted to tell him how amazing he was the way he’d smoothed things over but I knew he hated that stuff, so I turned my attention to deciding what I wanted to eat for breakfast. Apart from me reminding Josh to order cranberry juice and discussing how we wanted our eggs we didn’t speak again until Andy served coffee and took our order.

I sat back in my chair and scrutinized the terrace. “At one time I wouldn’t have given a thought to how difficult it can be just to negotiate a way through a restaurant.”

“Sam, I pushed myself to a corner table, I didn’t climb the north face of the Eiger,” Josh said.

“Which would have been made easier if ... “ I lowered my voice before I spat out the next few words, “some people hadn’t acted like an obstructive asshole.”

“So the guy didn’t have much spatial awareness,” Josh said lightly. Knowing him as well as I do, I was sure he was downplaying the whole thing.

“No, he was ignorant,” I persisted, feeling myself getting angry while Josh managed to stay reasonable about the whole incident.

“Okay, he’s got no spatial awareness *and* he’s ignorant,” Josh laughed. “Why are you getting all riled up about it?”

It was my turn to laugh, but this time with disbelief. “You’re the guy who loses it if an intern brings you something copied double-sided when you wanted it single, and you’re accusing *me* of getting riled up?”

Josh waited until Andy had set down his cranberry juice in front of him before he moved around the table to serve me with my bowl of granola.

“Firstly, the incident of which you speak also involved the intern collating them in the wrong order making me look an idiot in front of a couple of Republican senators ... “

“Point taken,” I said between mouthfuls.

“Secondly,” Josh continued, pushing his glass to one side, “I’ve just spotted the Republican member for Nevada and his chief of staff and I have no intention letting them see me get rattled by somebody else’s bad manners.”

“Drink it all, Josh,” I interrupted.

He scowled, but nevertheless drained the glass of juice. “I have to let people see that not having the use of my legs doesn’t mean I’m ... dysfunctional in any way. There are hundreds of things that could make me feel anything from irritated to angry ... having to go into buildings by the back entrance, car parking spaces that aren’t wide enough, people seeing the wheelchair rather than the person ... but believe me, there are other things that are much harder to deal with than that. I ...”

Josh stopped abruptly as our eggs Benedict arrived.

“Anything else you gentlemen need?” Andy asked.

“No, we’re good, thanks,” I replied for both of us.

“Enjoy.” 

Andy walked away. For the next few minutes Josh and I ate hungrily, enjoying the rare opportunity to eat a relatively leisurely breakfast on a work day. As I worked my way through my eggs I debated inwardly how I could introduce the topic I really wanted to talk about. I wondered if it was Josh’s intention to mention it before we were interrupted. I watched surreptitiously as Josh ate his fill, then laid his knife and fork neatly side by side on his plate. Finally he folded his napkin carefully instead of crumpling it up and tossing it onto his plate as he normally did. This unusually fastidious behavior told me one thing: Josh wanted to talk about something he‘d be much happier avoiding . I sat back and sipped my coffee, waiting.

“About last night,” he began. He shifted a little, dropping his head and scrutinizing the table top. “You were right, it wasn’t the first time it had happened, but it had been a while ... “

I didn’t have a clue what he was talking about, but I kept my own counsel knowing that once Josh had started to unburden himself chances were he’d tell me everything. The sun went behind a cloud; Josh removed his sunglasses and looked straight at me. Being able to see his eyes made things a lot easier, even if I didn’t much like the disquiet I saw there.

“Remember the bad dreams after the shooting?” Josh asked. 

How could I forget? When Josh and I began sleeping together again after he came home from the hospital, he would regularly have nightmares about being shot and not being able to breathe. He’d thrash around, wake up sweating and shaking and all I could do was hold him until he’d finally fall asleep. Some nights we even had to sleep with the light on. But after a couple of months the dreams abated, especially as Josh resumed his normal working pattern, or at least what passes for normal being on the President’s staff.

“Is it happening again, Josh?” I asked. I leaned forward, wanting to stretch my arm across the table, place my hand on Josh’s, make some connection. But no matter that people knew we were out, we were still almost painfully discreet when exposed to the eyes and ears of this town. Usually it just filled me with irritation that I couldn’t touch Josh or even kiss him lightly on the cheek in public, but at that particular moment it was almost unbearable.

He shook his head, swallowed hard. “Not that sort of dream. In fact, it doesn’t even feel like a bad dream when it‘s happening. It’s when I wake up that it becomes a nightmare.”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Andy coming towards us, caffetiere in hand. Josh hadn’t seen him, so I shook my head slightly. He backed off and I turned my attention back to Josh.

“Sorry ... I don’t really understand what you mean,” I said.

“You’re really that interested in this stuff?” 

I couldn’t decide if Josh was genuinely surprised or if he was trying to fob me off. “How can I help if you don’t tell me some of the detail?” I asked.

The sun came back out again, bathing us in its warmth. The golden light of a DC morning contrasted sharply with the image in my mind, a picture of Josh lying in the darkness, dreaming some dream that wasn’t a nightmare and yet was.

“It started after I came out of hospital,” Josh explained. “I’ve been getting this recurring dream that I was walking along the street ... and I mean really walking ... like it was before ...”

Another pause, then Josh picked up the narrative once more.

“Even though it was a dream, I knew I was happy ... I was going some place to meet you. Eventually I’d find myself outside this big building ... it looked kind of official. There was a long flight of stairs to the entrance and you were standing at the top of them. I’d put my foot on the first step and start climbing but it seemed to take forever, you know?”

I thought I knew what he meant. One of those dreams where you’re trying to do something simple and uncomplicated but it’s like an unknown force stops you. I nodded, waiting for him to go on.

“And you’re there waiting for me ... I can see you smiling but I just can’t make any headway up those stairs. And that’s when I wake up.” Josh’s breath hitched a little and he pressed his hand against his mouth before speaking again. “I wake up and I know it’s been a wonderful, unbelievable dream and the real nightmare is that I’ll never climb that flight of stairs.”

My God, why did I decide to do this here, I thought. Why didn’t I keep this conversation for when we were in our own home? I should have been at Josh’s side, holding him close while he gave free reign to the emotions he must have been feeling. But instead, all I could do was slide my hand over towards his so our fingertips touched.

“Josh ... oh, Josh, Josh, why didn’t you tell me?” I asked. “I didn’t know *any* of this.”

He pulled his hand away, the abruptness of the gesture matching the sharpness in his voice as he replied. “And just tell me what could you do, Sam? It’s all in my head, you can’t take any of it away. You can’t fix this like you can a speech that’s not working.”

“How long? How long has this been going on?” I demanded.

“It stopped when we’d been to Chesapeake Bay,” he replied. He tilted his head back, closing his eyes against the beautiful blue sky. “That weekend was such a turning point, remember?”

He looked at me, a slight smile on his face. I couldn’t decide whether it was at the sweetness of the memories of that weekend we’d spent in Maryland on the anniversary of Rosslyn, or whether it was some sort of bitter humor at the trick his psyche had played on him.

“And it can stop again, Josh,” I said eagerly. “Now that you’ve shared this, maybe it won’t happen again? It’s not just in your head anymore.”

“God, you don’t understand, do you?” he asked impatiently. “How can you say that with any confidence? You’re not sitting there in a wheelchair; you don’t wake up every day and for the first few seconds forget that your legs don’t work until you realize that you can’t feel anything below your waist; you’ve got absolutely *no experience* of this Sam!”

If Josh had leaned over and punched me square in the face I don’t think it would have hurt as much. Maybe I did need it explained that I could never really appreciate what he was feeling, but to have the message delivered so brutally was unbelievably painful. I stood up and waved at Andy to get his attention. I couldn’t even look at Josh.

“You‘re right,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “I don’t know what you go through every day, every night. But that’s not my fault ... “

“Sam ... “ Josh tried to interrupt, and I could hear the contrition in his voice. I knew he’d have regretted the words as soon as he’d uttered them, but I couldn’t leave it there. I placed my hands flat on the table so that I could lean nearer to Josh and not have the people at the adjacent tables hear me.

“If I could have taken that bullet ... if it could have been me using a wheelchair instead of you ... I’d have done it in a heartbeat.”

I managed to arrange my face into a semblance of friendliness as Andy came over with the check. I glanced at it, pulled out my wallet and paid without further ado.

“Come on, we’d better get back to work,” I said to Josh. “Thanks, Andy, that was great. See you soon.”

I turned away, leaving Josh to say his goodbyes and follow me out onto the sidewalk. We proceeded in silence for a couple of minutes, our angry exchange hanging in the air between us like an unwelcome guest. I was walking quickly but despite the heat and the fact the streets were more crowded than they had been earlier Josh matched my speed. He even made a couple of people leap out of the way as they walked towards him, chatting and not seeing him coming towards them until the last minute. 

“Why don’t they look where they’re going?” I heard him mutter, followed by, “Sam?”

“Yeah?” I didn’t much feel like talking. All I wanted to do was get back to the White House, shut myself in my office and forget about the resentment that had settled like a dull ache somewhere in my chest.

“I shouldn’t have said what I said ... Sam, please, look at me.”

I looked down at Josh. He looked a little flushed and he was perspiring slightly. I guessed the temperature was already nudging the eighties and wondered if I should offer to push him. As soon as it entered my head, though, I rejected the thought. No doubt Josh would yell at me for treating him like an invalid or devaluing his independence or something. So I carried on walking.

“Sam, I was out of line ... “ He was panting a little, but still I kept on walking until ... 

“Goddammit, Sam, I’m sorry ... “ His voice trailed off and when I looked again I couldn’t see him at my side. 

“Please, can we just stop a minute?”

I turned around to see Josh had pushed himself under the canopy overhanging the entrance to a hotel. He was breathing heavily and mopping his brow with a handkerchief. In an instant I felt guilty for being so childish as to make him struggle in this heat while at the same time he tried to make his peace with me. I walked over to his side and dropped down on one knee.

“Jesus, Josh, what the hell are we doing?” I asked wearily. I touched the back of my hand to his brow. “You want me to push you the rest of the way?”

He smiled, pushing the crumpled handkerchief back into his pocket. “No, I just got a little overheated. In more ways than one, huh?”

“I think we both did,” I agreed. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, really,” he insisted. “I shouldn’t have said what I did back there. I know you’re concerned, but I was wrong laying it all on you.”

“Josh, I just want to help. We share our lives. That’s got to mean that we share the good and the bad things. I want to make things better for you.”

“Thing is, Sam, I don’t think you *can* make this better,” he answered. “These dreams ... reactions ... they’re mine and only I can deal with it.”

“But not on your own,” I replied. “Even if you don’t want my help, why not the counselor at the hospital?”

“Sam, can we not talk about it right now?” He was looking at me pleadingly, then lifted his arm to look at his watch. “And I’ll be late for my first meeting if we don’t make tracks.”

“Sure you don’t want me to push?” I asked.

“No, but can we not make it a sprint this time?” he laughed as we set off at a slower pace. 

The conversation turned to more mundane but easier topics. We talked about the day ahead, the meetings we had, how the rest of our schedule looked. I’d begun to suspect that this dream thing was possibly due to the prospect of spending time with a stranger discussing how his life had changed since the shooting, so I found myself trying to steer the conversation away from Josh’s meeting with Megan. 

“Riveting though your musings are regarding your afternoon teleconference with the fruit growers of California, you *can* mention my three o’clock, you know,” Josh remarked as we swiped our security passes.

“We’re talking about subsidies for avocado growers here, Josh, not any old fruit growers,” I answered.

“And that should concern me, why?”

We stopped as a gaggle of staffers approached trying to maneuver a flip chart stand, laptop and projector through the narrow corridor leading to the operations bullpen.

“You like guacamole, don’t you?”

Josh ducked his head, narrowly avoiding being hit on the head with a leg of the stand as one of the staffers squeezed past.

“I like peanut butter but it doesn’t mean I want a lecture on the current state of the peanut growing industry.” He pushed towards his office, then turned quickly to face me. “Come find me afterwards? I‘ve scheduled a couple of hours for Megan.”

“Sure. See you about five.”

“Yeah.” Josh smiled, but there was a wistful quality to it. Nevertheless he seemed fine so I walked away.

“Sam.”

I turned to see Josh in the doorway to his office.

“Spare me a couple of minutes?” he asked.

As I approached his office Donna got there first. 

“Josh, your nine-thirty is waiting,” she said. 

“They’re early,” Josh said.

“Yes, but seeing as how they’re representatives from the science community to talk about federal funding for research into finding newer and more accurate ways to measure time don’t you think it would be a good idea to actually *be* on time?”

“Tell them my atomic clock is a nanosecond slow,” Josh said moving to one side. He caught my eye, indicating with a tilt of his head that I should go into his office.

“But I need to give you these documents for the meeting.” Donna was nothing if not determined.

“Donna!” Josh’s voice was only just below his notorious yelling pitch. “I need a couple of minutes with Sam.”

“You’ve just spent an hour with him having breakfast,” she snapped back.

I poked my head round the door frame to hear Josh say, “I forgot I need some input for an urgent memo.”

Donna raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“It’s to the Department of Agriculture ... the economies of scale of peanut cultivation,” I chimed in. Okay, totally lame, but the best I could come up with to back up Josh’s improvising.

“Five minutes then I come and get you,” Donna ordered. She walked back to her workstation, throwing down a bundle of files with a thump.

I ducked back into Josh’s office; he reached an arm around me to push the door closed.

“Peanut cultivation?” he smirked.

“An urgent memo?” I countered. I walked further into the room dropping down into the visitor’s chair. Josh moved closer so that he was within touching distance. His smile had disappeared; he bowed his head then looked at me from beneath his brows. 

“You know you said you wanted to make things better for me?” he asked.

I responded by stroking a finger along his jaw line. Sometimes words just aren’t enough.

“Well, I think I’d like to take you up on that, because I could really use a hug right now.” He gave me a rueful, almost apologetic smile.

I moved forward in my chair, but I couldn’t hold him as closely as I’d like from that position so I slid down to kneel on the floor beside his wheelchair. I wrapped my arms around him, and our faces touched. His breath was warm on my neck, the familiar scent of his cologne strangely comforting. I heard him cry out quietly as I dropped a kiss on his cheek.

“Hey, it’s okay,” I whispered. I felt the familiar mix of contradictory emotions that these occasions evoked. One part of me hates Josh being hurt or distressed, but there’s another place within me that feels happy that I can comfort him like this. Josh is the strongest person I know; very few people get to see what a tender soul he is. I think CJ’s seen it and I know Leo must be aware of it, he’s known Josh such a long time. But one of the greatest privileges of my life is Josh revealing himself to me in the truest sense. It can be painful, but it always leaves me loving him more.

“You’re too good to me, Sam. I push you away ... “ his voice trailed off.

“Shh. You soon draw me back in again,” I said. I ran a hand up his back, fondled his hair, stroked the nape of his neck, sensing him relaxing at last. “Better?”

“Yeah.” 

I loosened my embrace a little. Josh lifted his head, kissed me gently on the mouth. 

“I just thought of something,” he said.

“What’s that?” I asked, unable to resist returning his kiss.

“When I wake up from that damn dream, reality’s not so bad after all.” He was grinning now. “I just have to turn over and you’re right next to me rather than at the top of a never ending flight of stairs.”

He took hold of my hand and squeezed it. I smiled back at him and we were sitting there enjoying this brief respite from the bustle of the West Wing when there was a sharp rap on the door.

“I’ll be right there,” he yelled in the direction of the sound. He looked back at me. “Well, that broke the moment.”

“You’ll be all right?” I asked, standing up reluctantly.

“Yeah.” His voice was quiet and a little raspy, but his smile was genuine. I could see the small lines that crinkled at the corners of his eyes and there was the hint of a dimple showing. “That peanut memo ... we work well together, don’t we?”

“None better.” 

I pulled the door open and had scarcely stepped out into the bullpen when Donna slipped into Josh’s office. I heard a snatch of his conversation with Donna, hearing that sensuously intimate tone replaced by that of Josh Lyman the politician. The spell of the last few minutes was broken, but I suddenly felt as if Josh was finally beginning to accept that I didn’t have to be a wheelchair user myself to understand his fears or to hold out a helping hand to him.

I held my head a little higher at the thought.

***  
I swear I was losing the will to live. Steve Scott, Under-Secretary to the Department of Agriculture was in full flow, insisting on debating every last point on the standards of avocado production that the awarding of the subsidies demanded. I forced myself to pay attention as the argument began to become more and more tangential, the Under-Secretary deciding to make what he thought was a pertinent point by using sugar beet production as an example. I began thinking about the work that was piling up on my desk then abandoned that thought to wonder whether Josh had managed to get through the afternoon without pissing off Megan Hammond. 

“I’ve got some more numbers to back up my argument. ” 

Steve Scott’s words pulled me up short. Seeing as I was chairing the meeting I couldn’t afford to let my attention wander as I waited for my opportunity to pounce when the necessity to take in some oxygen made the Assistant Secretary at last take a pause. Which he did, mid-way through a list of actual and projected production figures. I thanked God the teleconference prevented him from doing it as a PowerPoint presentation. 

“Can I suggest that we take this discussion outside of this meeting?” I leaned forward towards the speakerphone. “The objective today was to agree some terms of reference for the next round of negotiations and I think we’ve pretty much achieved that.”

Despite the distance between Washington and California, I swear I could hear the relief in the various voices that came down the line from the West Coast.

“We’re happy to take away our action points, Sam.” The chair of the California Fruit Producers Alliance seized on my suggestion with evident alacrity.

“Sir?” I looked questioningly at the Under-Secretary, who nodded.

“Fine, but I’d like to return to my last point when we get round the table face to face,” he replied.

“Why don’t we all take a look at our schedules over the next couple of days and I’ll get my assistant to contact you so we can pencil in a date to meet.” I caught Kathy’s eye, who nodded and made a note as the sound of general murmurings signaled the meeting’s assent. “Thanks everybody for a very productive afternoon and we’ll meet soon.”

As soon as all the goodbyes had been said I pressed the switch on the speakerphone and surreptitiously glanced at my watch. I didn’t want to become embroiled in a further discussion with Steve Scott, who was involved in a lifelong love affair with the sound of his own voice. As it was the meeting had overrun and it was now six-fifteen. I remembered I’d agreed to catch up with Josh at five, and chances were he’d now be in another meeting or otherwise engaged. It looked as if I wouldn’t get to hear about how his meeting with Megan had gone until much later that evening. Still, if I could make my escape now, I might just catch a few minutes with him.

“Sam.” My heart sank as Steve seemed about to open up yet another conversation. “I think we need to talk before the next meeting - I don’t want us to get sandbagged by any proposals the fruit growers might come up with between now and then.”

I shuffled my papers while Kathy hovered behind me. “Can we diary in some time at a later date? I’ve really got to dash to my six-thirty appointment.”

I turned towards Kathy to see an almost imperceptibly raised eyebrow in response to my hastily invented pressing engagement. I glared at her as meaningfully as possible as Steve busied himself collecting his papers and briefcase.

“Fine by me Sam.” He turned towards me and we shook hands. “I’ll see you soon.”

Kathy and I followed the Assistant Secretary out into the corridor as he walked towards the exit from the West Wing and I made for my office.

“Nice save,” she remarked, referring to my avoidance of further discussion on sugar beet production.

“We’d have been there a couple more hours if I’d let him carry on. And he always manages to turn these conversations into a lecture on what a great job he’s doing.” I stopped at Kathy’s desk as she sat down. “Can you let me have a draft of the minutes by noon tomorrow?”

“Yes, sir.” She sketched a mock salute before turning to her computer screen. As I walked away she called after me. 

“Don’t forget to mention to your *six- thirty* ... “ her voice was heavy with sarcasm, “that I’d be delighted to provide some input to the documentary.”

Making a mental note to Toby to discuss a return to nineteenth century work practices where an assistant would be seen and not heard, I dumped my papers in my office and made for Josh’s work area. The door to his office was open, but when I poked my head round the door I saw it was empty. I turned back to the bullpen but there was no sign of Donna or Mike, Josh’s other assistant. 

“Jake.” I called over to the intern who was tapping away at his computer in the cramped corner he shared with a couple of other people. “Is Josh around?”

He hit another couple of keystrokes. “He said to let you know he’s giving that TV director the five cents tour if you want to catch up with them,” he said absently. “They’re probably still somewhere on this floor.”

“Thanks.” I turned on my heel, then looked back at Jake. “And I think you’ll find that Megan is a producer not a director.”

“Well, actually ... “ I heard Jake say, but I didn’t stop to hear the rest of it as I made my way towards the Roosevelt Room. I guessed Josh would take his visitor there first, as tended to be customary, and when I peered through the glass pane in the door I could see my assumption was correct.

I could see Josh although Megan was somewhere out of sight towards other end of the room. I didn‘t want to burst in and interrupt so I tried to catch Josh‘s eye as he talked and laughed with his visitor. I couldn’t help thinking that he looked totally animated, a far cry from the mood he’d been in for the last couple of days. He’d removed his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves, looking as relaxed as I’d ever seen him, laughing while gesturing with his hands as he entertained Megan. No doubt he was regaling her with tales of all the times he’d trounced numerous Republicans in that very room. I’d just decided to leave him to it rather than interrupt when he turned his head and made a ‘Come on in‘ gesture. I pushed the door open and went in.

“Sam, someone I’d like you to meet,” Josh said.

I looked down the room to the end of the polished oak conference table that dominated the place. The early evening sun was angling through the window and at first I was unable to make out the person Josh indicated. Shifting slightly to block the dazzling light I realized that the other occupant of the room was also a wheelchair user. I hadn’t expected that.

In addition, blonde, beautiful ... and very decidedly male.

Well that was even *more* unexpected.

And Josh seemed way too willing to turn on the full Lyman charm with this guy. As he introduced us he was giving him the full works: the eye contact where he makes you feel you’re the most interesting person in the world; the ultimate knock ’em dead smile; and the dimples. Believe me, I know the effect because I’ve been a recipient on more than one occasion.

“Sam, I’d like you to meet David Strachan. He’s going to be directing the documentary. David - Sam Seaborn, White House Deputy Director of Communications.”

Oh, and by the way I’m also Josh’s lover, I added to myself. That thought was quickly followed by another: what the hell’s wrong with me?

“Good to meet you, David.” I moved down the room, managing to assume what I hoped was an acceptably friendly expression as we shook hands.

“By your face I guess you were expecting to meet Megan,” he said with a wry smile.

I pulled out a chair then decided to perch on the edge of the table. “One of the interns mentioned Josh was with the director but I thought he’d gotten his producers and directors confused,” I told him.

“It’s a common mistake,” he laughed. “It was meant to be just Megan today, but as I was available it made sense for all three of us to have an initial get together.”

Josh pushed himself towards me so we formed a small group somewhere near the head of the table. “She had to leave for a meeting with some local people she’s hoping to engage for the crew and since David had some time to spare I thought I’d let him have a first look at one of his locations.”

“So you’ll be filming in other areas other than the White House?” I asked.

“Josh has some very definite ideas about this documentary not being just about him so we’ll be filming at the NRH, maybe a school, other workplaces ... bring in a wide range of people and issues. But ... “ he looked over at Josh, “it’s going to be a real thrill to get access into this place.”

“I’ll speak to Donna about getting everyone vetted,” said Josh. “Either you or Megan will need to give me a list of names asap.”

“That would be Megan’s bailiwick, not mine,” David remarked. “She does all the hiring and firing and her team organizes the logistics of getting a program made. Me, I just turn up and tell the crew where to point the camera.”

He laughed in a self-deprecating sort of way, and I had to admit that he seemed nice enough and lacking in the sort of monster ego I assumed most TV people possessed. After appearing on Crossfire and Capitol Beat several times, I had a pretty low opinion of many of those working in the media.

“From what I hear I think you’ll find a lot of people who work round here are hoping to become TV stars,” I told him. “Watch your back on the way out in case you get ambushed by some assistants who don’t seem exactly camera shy.”

“I think we’re going to be fairly selective in who we feature in terms of White House personnel,” David said. “I don’t think I’ll even include Josh’s secretary.”

Josh raised an eyebrow. “A word to the wise, David. Don’t let Donna hear you refer to her as my secretary. It’s senior assistant if you ever want to work in this town again.”

“Point taken. But that’s not to say people other than yourself won’t appear, Josh. If we do some filming of you in action in a meeting, for example. Hey, do you think we’d get some footage of you with the President in the Oval Office?” David asked eagerly.

“I’m not so sure about that,” Josh said with obvious reluctance. “There’s his schedule to consider for one thing.”

“It might be difficult to plan,” I chipped in. “The President’s program of activities can change from one hour to the next. You might find yourself all set to film and something crops up which means he’s no longer free. There’s also the question of context and how appropriate it would be for the President to take part in a program dealing with some issues that could be politically contentious.”

“And showing me in the Oval would only accentuate the fact I’m not exactly typical of someone who has a disability,” added Josh.

“There’s no such thing as a ‘typical’ ...” David hooked his fingers to form quotation marks,” ... disabled person, no more than there’s any such thing as a typical woman or a typical African-American or anyone else from a particular social grouping.”

Josh opened his mouth, shut it, then began speaking again. “Okay, I take your point, we’ve all done the diversity training. But what I mean is that the White House is a little out of the ordinary in terms of places to work, and when you show someone who’s part of the President’s senior staff ... “

“Oh, I *see*,” said David with a grin, “what you’re talking about is *status*.”

“Hey, you know that’s not what I mean ... “ Josh responded, his voice getting a little louder.

“All right, all right,” David laughed, “I’m just yanking your chain. Although, yes, I can see that as a member of the political elite maybe the contrast with other people’s lives would be a touch overt.”

Of course, Josh couldn’t leave the discussion there as they continued batting the argument back and forward with me sitting in between, totally ignored. Finally I stood up.

“I think I’m going to leave you guys to it. I’ve got a mountain of work on my desk. It was nice meeting you David - no doubt I’ll see you when you start filming.”

“Sure thing,” he replied. “See you soon.”

“I’ll catch up with you later, Sam,” Josh called, then turned his attention back to David.

As I walked back to my office I pondered on the short interlude in the Roosevelt Room. Things seemed to have gone surprisingly well for Josh. He seemed keen ... no, scratch that ... he seemed to be positively enthused about the documentary in contrast with his earlier somewhat lukewarm involvement. I noticed he hadn’t said much about Megan apart from explaining her absence, but he’d seemed very taken with David Strachan. Nothing wrong with that, I told myself, he’s a personable kind of guy.

I rounded the corner into the communications bullpen.

He also gives the impression of being very bright, I added to my mental list.

I stepped into my office, walked over to the window.

He and Josh seem to have built up an instant rapport, but he’s not afraid to challenge the Lyman words of wisdom, I observed, appending that attribute to the inventory.

I fiddled with the cord attached to the blind.

And he’s also very good looking, I surmised, completing the catalogue of Positive Things to Say about David Strachan.

I whirled round, looked at my cluttered desk. Ignoring its siren call I made my way to CJ’s office.

***

“I can give you a couple of minutes, Sam, then press briefing’s in five,” said CJ, not even lifting her head from hammering away on her laptop.

“How do you do that?” I asked.

“What?” She hit a final key decisively, then sat back to give me her full attention.

“Know it’s me without looking?” I flopped down in the visitor’s chair.

She looked at her watch. “I know your meeting ended twenty minutes ago, you’ll have gone to see Josh and now you want to know what my views are on how the whole TV thing went.”

“Witch,” I said.

“Dunderhead,” she retorted.

The social niceties observed, I began my interrogation.

“Were you actually in Josh’s meeting?” I asked. I’d got the impression that the only participants were Josh, Megan and David.

“Seeing as I set the whole thing up, yes, Sam I was there for part of the time,” she replied exasperatedly. “What is it you want to know? Like did Josh start yelling at anyone?”

“I just wanted your impression of how it went,” I said meekly.

“Surprisingly well,” came the response. “Josh was *very* well behaved. We talked through the basic concept of the show and Megan presented her production plans. Everything’s in hand.”

“So what’s Megan like?” I asked.

“Professional, articulate, talented. Doesn’t suffer fools gladly, I’d say.”

“So you bonded,” I grinned.

I got a similar grin in return. “Yeah, you could say that. The director was there too - guy called David Strachan.”

“Yeah, I met him,” I replied airily. “But only briefly.”

“So you want to know what my view is of Mr Strachan?” CJ asked.

I shifted uncomfortably. CJ is way too intuitive.

“If you like.” I was giving nothing away - I have a *very* good poker face, unlike some people.

CJ looked up at the ceiling, swiveled her chair slightly. “Likeable, clever, funny ... “

“Mmm,” I said in a non committal sort of way.

She stopped her swiveling and fixed me with a look.

“ ... and good looking.”

“Yeah?” I said as if I hadn’t noticed.

“Seemed to turn a few heads in here,” she went on.

“That doesn’t take much,” I replied.

“But he is *very* good looking - I mean, that blonde hair, those green eyes.” CJ pressed on with her description.

“I didn’t really take that much in,” I said.

She stood up, straightened her skirt, picked up her briefing notes. “He hit it off with Josh from the get go. And the banter!”

I sat looking up at CJ. Maybe she was doing this deliberately. “They had the banter?” I asked.

She walked over to the door. “Did they ever? They were bantering as if they’d been doing it for years.”

“Well, that’s … good,” I managed to say. “It makes it easier for everyone if they all get along. Better for the whole enterprise.”

“Sam.”

I twisted round in the chair. “CJ?”

“You’re not jealous are you?” 

I jumped up. “Jealous? What reason would I have to be jealous?”

She flashed a smile. “I know. Ridiculous, isn’t it?”

I stared at her retreating back. That strange little sickly sensation that had been jabbing at me since I left the Roosevelt Room - jealousy?

No. CJ was right. It *was* ridiculous.

***

Half an hour later and I was still at base camp in the mountain of work on my desk. I sighed as I scribbled yet another amendment to the draft speech I‘d completed that morning. I could just as easily have worked on the saved version on my laptop, but ever since my college days I’ve preferred printing out a hard copy and amending it with red ink. Sometimes wielding an actual pen helps my thought processes. As I scratched out yet another sentence in my search for more acceptable syntax, I heard the ’ping’ from my laptop that signified the arrival of an e-mail. Thankful for the excuse to temporarily put the speech aside I clicked on the minimized mailbox window at the bottom of the screen.

The name on the top line of the message told me it was from my friend Richard Taylor at State. No entry in the subject line and the content was written as cryptically as possible since he’d sent it through the internal government e-mail system.

Hi Sam - 

Have you had any thoughts about the request I sent you recently? Let me know if you can help out. I’d appreciate it if you could let me know either way asap.

Richard

I pulled off my glasses, tossing them on the desk. I knew I should have contacted Richard as soon as I’d received his original note to tell him it was out of the question. It was one thing a senior adviser to the President making a request through formally recognized channels on behalf of a couple of American citizens imprisoned abroad, but something else entirely to meet with their parents. I had no idea what such a meeting would achieve apart from raising false hopes for the Vogels. If I went further and agreed to petition the Brazilian government personally I would put my career and the administration's credibility at risk as this would directly contravene government policy on the matter. So I told myself I should contact Richard to tell him that while I sympathized with the plight of all concerned, the best course of action would be to keep faith with the low-key diplomatic approach favored by the State Department. 

That was the sensible approach. The logical approach. But also an approach that went against the grain in that part of me that at times found itself in conflict with party and government lines. And Richard knew me well enough, especially with regard to my earlier involvement in this case, to know that my heart was at war with my hard headed politico mind. I read and re-read his message and wished that I could talk the dilemma through with Josh. I had no doubt that he’d take the approach that would do least harm to the administration and myself, but at least I could rely on him to play devil’s advocate. He was good at that.

“Hey, I don’t think the US citizen is paying you to daydream over that mountain of work.”

I jerked my eyes away from the computer screen to see Josh grinning at me from across my desk.

“Periods of reflection are valuable to creative ... “

I paused and he raised a querying eyebrow.

“ ... synergy,” I concluded. 

He snorted derisively. Josh’s idea of a period of reflection is to sit figuring out ever more complex permutations of the hieroglyphics on the chalk board in his office. He has no time for the more contemplative method of just sitting back and letting the mind roam free. I guess that’s why he’s so good at strategy.

“Anyway,” he said, “David and I are going out to get some dinner. Want to come?”

I thought longingly of a glass of wine and a steak, then glanced down at the half-corrected speech on my desk. “There’s nothing I’d like better, but I think it’ll be a sandwich and a soda for me. I’ve just got too much on and that fruit growers meeting this afternoon took longer than I’d wanted it to.”

Josh shrugged. “You’d probably be bored anyway - David and I have a few things to discuss about the documentary.”

“Right.” I looked over his shoulder. Through my open door I could see David talking with Kathy and Ginger. Or more correctly they seemed to be talking *at* him, no doubt trying to organize their TV debut. Then CJ appeared, leaned against a nearby desk and began acting almost flirtatiously. What was it about that guy?

Josh turned round to follow the direction of my gaze. “I’d better go and rescue him from his adoring fans. Listen, I’m going to head straight home after dinner. Is it okay if I take the car?”

“Sure. I’ll probably walk home.”

Josh wheeled himself round my desk, leaned over to kiss me on the cheek. He gave me a dark brown stare from those gorgeous eyes. “In that case, be careful.”

“Josh!” I laughed. “From here to Georgetown ... it’s hardly the mean streets of New York.”

“So I worry about you!” he said in a jokey way, but I knew he meant it.

“Go!” I pointed to the door. “Some of us have got work to do. And enjoy your dinner.”

“See you later.”

In the bullpen Josh went up to David, saying something to the women gathered around him. I watched until the two men were out of sight, although for a few seconds more I could hear them both talking at once until they were out of earshot. Then I was left alone with my mountain of work, my ethical dilemma and my thoughts.

 

***

It was 11:30 as I approached the building that housed the apartment I share with Josh. Through the living room window I could see a light burning, although all was quiet when I let myself in. I guessed Josh was in bed; not hearing a reply when I called his name I guessed he was already asleep. I’d enjoyed my stroll home through the quiet streets, relishing the slight breeze that had dissipated some of the heavy heat that had prevailed during the day, but looked forward to enjoying even more stretching out next to Josh and letting sleep roll over me. But I doubted that would happen easily as I continued to chew over Richard’s latest e-mail in my mind. Yawning, I wandered through to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water from the fridge, taking grateful gulps of the cool water as I made my way to the bedroom. Selfishly I hoped Josh would wake up so I could unburden myself a little.

As soon as I entered the bedroom I realized that was unlikely. My driven, hard-working lover was propped up against the pillows, a document and legal pad in front of him, a pen held loosely in his hand as it lay against the papers. He was also fast asleep, looking as if he wouldn’t rouse any time soon, although when he did I surmised he would wake with a back ache as he hadn‘t arranged his pillows properly. I placed the water bottle quietly on the nightstand next to my side of the bed, switched on my lamp then walked round and extinguished Josh’s. I stood looking down at him. His head was turned towards me, his hair tousled, his breathing even. I couldn’t help wondering what all his Republican enemies would think if they could see the President’s attack dog looking as cute as he did at that moment. As gently as I could I slid the document and pad from under his hand and retrieved the pen without disturbing him. I glanced down at the papers and saw he’d been working on a list of senate members. There were ticks, crosses and question marks against their names. I guessed he was analyzing how members of the upper chamber would be likely to vote on the transport bill. On the legal pad he’d jotted down a number of names, presumably the ones he intended to charm, persuade or strong arm into voting for the bill.

Moving as quietly as I could I undressed, used the bathroom and checked that the bedroom window was open. It was only when I slid into bed, pulling the sheet over me, that I felt Josh stir. He blinked and rubbed his eyes before looking over at me.

“What time is it?” he asked, pushing himself upright. He winced slightly.

“Ten to midnight,” I replied. “You want me to rearrange those pillows?”

“Please.”

“Josh, you know better than to have your pillows any old how,” I chided him. Josh has suffered from back ache and muscle spasms ever since he was shot. Lying or sitting awkwardly only makes it worse. I pushed him gently back against the pillows. “Better?”

“Mmmm,” he said appreciatively. He looked up at me. “You make any inroads into all that work?”

“Some, but Toby’s still not happy with the rework I’ve done on that agriculture speech.” I propped myself on one elbow.

“Tell Toby to write it himself,” Josh retorted.

“Toby and rural affairs? Give me a break. I might as well ask you to write a briefing on Chinese opera. But never mind that ... “ I leaned over, touched my lips to Josh’s. It was nice: gentle, slow, with a little bit of tongue skirmishing. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Josh gave me a lazy smile.

I slid down the bed, rested my head on his chest, felt Josh‘s fingers gently playing with my hair. I figured that maybe I was going to have the opportunity to talk a little before we fell asleep.

“How was your evening?” I asked him.

“Good,” came the response. “Interesting.”

“Oh?” 

“You know, talking about the documentary, sharing ideas,” Josh went on. “David’s got such an insight into the issues ... well, that’s not surprising, I guess.”

“How does he come to be using a wheelchair?” I asked.

“A diving accident ... when he was at university. I think he said it was about twenty years ago.”

“Wow. That’s tough,” I said.

“Yeah, he was eighteen when it happened. Can you believe it, you’re hardly an adult and you have to get your head round something like that.” Josh’s voice sounded admiring.

“It’s hard whatever the age,” I said, thinking of Josh’s experience.

“He had such a hard time breaking into television, convincing people he could be mobile enough around a studio or on location. You know he wants to crack Hollywood next? God, he’s so strong, so determined.”

“You’re all of those things, Josh,” I remarked.

“But I’d already carved out a career when I was shot. I was able to come straight back into my own job. David had to pick up his university course after spending months in hospital, then get a foot in the door in one of the most competitive industries imaginable.“ 

I couldn’t believe Josh could show how much he was impressed by David, and yet hated to be on the receiving end of anything similar. “Don’t sell yourself short.” Not hearing any response, I decided to change the subject. “Josh, can I use you as a sounding board about something? It’s a little ... er ... difficult.”

“Mm-hm.”

I took a deep breath. “I know I said I wouldn’t get involved again, but Richard at State has been in touch about Graham Vogel and Sarah Jakes.”

No response. He obviously had no clue as to what I was talking about.

“Remember them?” I went on. “Ended up in prison in Brazil for standing up to T and T Mining Group?”

All of a sudden it registered that Josh’s fingers had ceased their soothing little caresses through my hair. I prepared myself for the inevitable interrogation as to why I was once again worrying about this situation.

“Josh? Josh?”

Gently I raised my head. Josh’s eyes were closed. He hadn’t heard a word I’d said. It was obvious any further two way communication was out of the question. I rolled over onto my back.

“Goodnight, Joshua,” I whispered, stretching out my arm to switch off the light. The pillows felt cool against my back as I stared up at the ceiling. Two hours later and I was still awake, no nearer to a decision. I closed my eyes, making a conscious effort to shut down my brain.

Tomorrow, I thought as I willed myself to fall asleep. I’ll speak to Josh tomorrow. He’ll help me decide what to do.

***

Despite my good intentions the next couple of days were frantic for Josh and myself. He had the transport bill to oversee, then a crisis over the latest budget negotiations blew up and I hardly saw him as we parted ways in the early morning West Wing. For myself, I had speeches to write and briefings to prepare. And each night we’d fall into bed too tired to indulge in more than a hug and a kiss before falling into an all too brief sleep before the alarm woke us once again. And I don’t mind admitting that a little part of me was apprehensive about raising the Vogel issue - as I’d taken to calling it - so maybe I was also a little relieved that I could conveniently use the pressure of work to put the whole thing out of my mind until the time was right to discuss it with Josh. Okay, so maybe it was avoidance, because by the time Friday came I was starting to feel guilty about not contacting Richard. That’s when I decided that because things had calmed down on the work front I’d persuade Josh to finish work at a more civilized hour. I made a pledge to myself that I’d make him a nice dinner, get him mellow, then open up the subject.

Yes, that sounded like a plan, and as I strolled to Josh’s office at four o’clock that Friday I was starting to look forward to the evening ahead. We’d have a reasonable talk about whether or not I should meet the Vogels, I’d make my decision, and then we’d maybe watch a DVD or listen to some music. In my minds eye I thought of Josh and me snuggling up on the couch, then taking things a little - no, a *lot* - further in the bedroom. I could feel my mouth twitching into a smile as the images got more and more risque.

“Hey!”

The exclamation was followed by a crash as I found myself entangled in a trailing cable and my shoulder caused a kind of floodlight thing on a stand to fall against the wall. An irate looking guy with what looked like a light meter slung around his neck flung his arms out to catch the falling contraption before it hit the floor. At the same time my eyes took in other figures moving around, their tee-shirts and jeans contrasting sharply with the business dress that, along with various military uniforms, formed the usual attire of most of the people around the White House. That’s when I remembered the memo that had been circulated the day before to tell us that the production company was moving in its equipment in preparation for the filming that would start the next week.

“Sorry,” I said, attempting to help and only succeeding in getting further entangled in the cables.

“Just leave it,” snapped the lighting man. 

I put my hands up in a further apology, stepping back and in the process making contact with someone else who just happened to have stood behind me.

“Don’t worry, Gene won’t bite,” a woman’s voice said. “He’s never gotten over the fact that he was once a lighting technician on Police Academy 3’s second unit.”

I turned around to find myself face to face with a slim figure clothed entirely in black: black tee shirt, black cargo pants and black sneakers. The effect, however, was softened by a shock of shoulder length red curls and a vivid smile. Guessing she was another member of the technical crew I simply nodded and smiled as I made to walk away, but not before this arresting person stuck her hand out in greeting.

“Megan Hammond,” she announced. “And you are … ?”

I grasped her hand, glad I hadn’t further embarrassed myself by revealing my mistake over her status. And just to be on the safe side I also made sure that I positioned myself where I couldn’t knock something over, step on anything or generally cause mayhem.

“Sam Seaborn, Deputy Director of Communications,” I replied. She steered me towards a space in the bullpen, probably figuring that I couldn’t possibly damage any more equipment from there. 

“You’re Josh’s partner,” she exclaimed.

My face split into a grin, probably one that was totally out of proportion as a response to that simple statement, but the fact was that at that point in time anything that openly acknowledged Josh and myself as a couple still made me almost giddy with delight. For us, coming out had been a gradual process: initially nothing formal was released to the press or broadcast media, just an announcement to the staff in the West Wing followed by Josh and I gradually increasing the occasions we were seen out and about socializing together. Just the two of us, that is, rather than in a group that usually included CJ, Toby and other friends. The clincher was one astute journalist finally stumbling on the fact that I was spending at least three nights a week staying in Josh’s apartment prior to us making it a permanent arrangement. This was followed by a relatively intense media frenzy that lasted all of a couple of weeks due to CJ’s carefully prepared strategy for handling the inevitable political fallout. That’s when a statement was made in the pressroom; that’s when we felt the media spotlight fall on us; that’s when we were fearful that maybe we’d misjudged the reactions of American society. But it was all worth it just to hear someone say ‘You’re Josh’s partner.’

“And you’re the show’s producer,” I said, trying to deflect her attention away from my increasingly silly grin. “Welcome to the West Wing.”

“Well, we’ll try not to cause too much disruption. It’s just so wonderful being given the opportunity to film here.” As she spoke, Megan was managing to keep one eye on the activity that was going on around us. “I can’t thank Josh enough for arranging for us to have so much access.”

“I know he’s pretty impressed with your track record and what you’re proposing.” 

“It’s a great story,” Megan remarked. “Brilliant young politician almost fatally injured while serving his country. He then has to come to terms with never walking again, but it doesn’t stop him from continuing to hold down a high profile career in what must be the most demanding work environment in the country.”

“Well, I don’t know if he’d like it spun like *that* exactly... “ I began. 

Megan smiled. “Don’t worry. That’s the high concept pitch. Josh is the hook that the whole thing hangs on, a way of bringing humanity to the issues. As will the other people we feature.”

“Okay.” I stretched the word out doubtfully. Even though Josh seemed confident enough in the whole enterprise I just hoped it would turn out the way he hoped. A lot of TV’s about illusion. I didn’t want that to be reversed, with Josh having *his* illusions shattered about the value of this project.

“Look.” Megan’s smile had disappeared. “I wouldn’t have commissioned David Strachan if I wanted to make some saccharin, human-interest story whose objective is to manipulate the audience’s emotion.”

As she talked, the cell phone clipped to her belt started chirping. I moved to walk away as she opened it up and placed it to her ear.

“Hi ... give me a moment. Sam.” I looked back at her standing in the middle of the bullpen. “I only met Josh a few days ago. I won’t sell him short. He’s really something, you know?”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “He is.”

Megan resumed her phone conversation; I continued on my way to Josh’s office where I found him being directed around the room by David. Another guy pointed a handheld TV camera. I stood in the doorway and watched until David conceded that he was happy with the camera angles. 

“Hey,” Josh said, catching sight of me. “Mitch, this is Sam Seaborn.”

The cameraman looked up from the viewfinder. “Hi. I think we’re about done here. David, you want to go check out the lobby?”

“Yeah, I think we can leave Josh in peace now,” said David. He wheeled himself over to the door. “How’s it going, Sam?”

“Apart from nearly wrecking some equipment and attempting to trample on Megan, I’m fine.” I moved into the office to allow David to pass. Josh groaned.

“Mitch, take that camera out of here. Sam could manage to bump into something in the middle of the Sahara Desert.” He gave me an infuriatingly mocking grin.

“See you later, guys,” called David as Mitch gathered up his camera and followed him in the direction of the lobby. I glanced out into the bullpen, shut the door behind me and walked over to where Josh was sitting in front of his desk.

I leaned over and kissed him lightly on the cheek. “I’m surprised you don’t have a personal bodyguard to keep your fans out.”

“That’s a good idea. Maybe some guy with a six pack and tight jeans,” Josh said.

“Um, on second thoughts, maybe not.” I sat down in one of the visitor chairs while Josh moved behind his desk.

“Shit, where did today go?” he muttered to himself as he surveyed his desk that contained a heap of files, a collection of spreadsheets and enough pink message slips to wallpaper the Oval Office. “I’ve managed to do exactly two hours of my actual job. The rest of the time has been spent going through a draft of an interview they want me to record for the show followed by being wrangled through the West Wing by David while he works out my marks, whatever they are.”

“I think that’s the technical term for where you need to position yourself for the camera,” I explained.

“Thank you Alfred Hitchcock,” remarked Josh as he bent his head over the document he’d opened, immediately forgetting I was there as he became absorbed in the content.

“Whoa, wait a minute.” I shot out of my seat and sat on Josh’s desk, twisting round so I could face him. I put my hand over the briefing note he was reading. “We’re supposed to finish early today so we can actually eat a proper meal together.”

Josh pushed my hand away. “And I *will* finish early ... earlier,” he amended.

“Joshua.” I deliberately pitched my voice a little lower. Josh’s hand rested on the desk; I gently ran a finger against that area between his thumb and forefinger. “It’s not just food I need.”

“Stop it, Sam. I know what you’re doing.” Josh lifted his head, his face serious.

“You think I’m just playing with you?” I asked. I slid my hand up his arm. Josh’s shirtsleeves were rolled up. I touched my fingers to his inner arm. He loves that.

“You think I’m that easily manipulated?” he frowned, although his voice was a little breathy.

“I don’t,” I whispered. 

Suddenly the corner of his mouth twitched. “You do. You think I’m a pushover.”

“Not at all.” I leaned over and kissed him full on the mouth. “How about a compromise? I go home, make dinner while you do a little catch up with work. On condition you get home at a reasonable hour.“ Once more I made contact with his mouth, nipped his lower lip, sucked on it a little.

Josh gave a slight groan. As I pulled back to look at him, his eyes had that heavy-lidded look I knew so well. If we’d dared, he’d have let me do him right there.

“I am *such* a pushover,” he sighed. “Okay, I’ll be home by eight.”

“Good. You won’t regret it.”

“Actually,” Josh said, “I had intended being home for dinner anyway.”

“So you just sat there and let me go through my whole seduction routine ... “

“Well, it was kinda fun,” he grinned. “But before you start getting carried away, I’ve invited a guest to eat with us.”

I slid off the desk, my feet hitting the floor with a thump as my plans for the evening flew out of the window.

“Why did you do that? I‘ve been looking forward to having you to myself. We‘ve hardly had a proper conversation all week. Not to mention anything else.” I couldn’t prevent the displeasure from showing in my voice. “Who?”

“David.”

“Oh. Right.” 

“He wants to tell me about the other people who’ve agreed to be filmed for the show,” Josh explained. “I knew I couldn’t spare him any more time today and Leo’s set up some budget meetings for this weekend. Besides, he’s getting a little tired of hanging out with the crew after working with them all day.”

“Some of us would appreciate the opportunity to hang out with the people we work with,” I said pointedly.

“We’re a slightly different case, aren’t we Sam?” Josh asked, not unreasonably. “And I just thought room service sounded a little lonely. He doesn‘t know anyone else in DC.”

That made me feel a little bad. After all, Josh was just trying to be friendly. It wouldn’t hurt to sacrifice one evening, after all.

“You’re right,” I said. “It’s fine. I hope he likes roast lamb with rosemary.”

“Yeah, he’s not a vegetarian or anything like that,” said Josh.

“I’ll open some nice wine,” I offered, trying to make amends for my earlier reluctance.

“Thanks, Sam.” Josh gestured towards his desk. “Look, I’d better get on.”

“Sure. I’ll see you later. Tell David we’ll eat about nine.”

The smile I showed to Josh disappeared as soon as I left his office. A passing intern gave me a quizzical look as I walked past him. Not surprisingly, as I was glaring alarmingly and muttering, “Dinner for three it is, then.” 

***

“So about ten years ago I decided I wanted to do something a bit more extreme than play basketball. That’s when I took up skiing.” David Strachan pushed his dessert plate away with an appreciative “Thanks, Sam, that was delicious.”

“Skiing?” asked Josh incredulously. “Did you hear that, Sam?” He looked towards me, favored me with a brief glance then turned his attention back to David.

“Yeah, great,” I said with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. I pushed a remnant of cheesecake around my plate, figuring my input into the conversation wasn’t particularly welcome.

The evening had started out well enough. David had shown some polite interest in my work in the White House, then we’d gone on to chat about his career as a director. The talk then turned to more general topics like films and sport, but by the time we’d began making inroads into the roast lamb the conversation had turned to David’s current commission, which in turn led him to ask Josh about the National Rehabilitation Hospital. And it was at the point that they began swapping stories about their respective experiences of rehabilitation when I stopped making any meaningful contribution to the proceedings. It was all just too damn personal to them. The fact that Josh’s stay in the hospital was such a horrible time for me wasn’t relevant. From the point of view of two guys with paraplegia, I was an outsider without any real conception of just how it had felt for them. So I sat and listened, making the odd comment just to let them know I was still there as the conversation turned to skiing via an exchange of views on the various models of wheelchair on the market.

“What sort of equipment do you use?” Josh was asking as I wondered when I could politely make my excuses and retreat to our bedroom on the pretext of doing some work.

“It’s called adaptive skiing,” David explained. “I use something called a mono-ski. How high was your injury?”

“T11,” said Josh, referring to the position in the thoracic vertebra where the bullet had severed his spinal cord.

David swirled his wine round in his glass, nodded his head. “Pretty much the same as me, then. In which case a mono-ski would suit you. It‘s got a molded seat on a frame, and that‘s attached to a single ski. It has a couple of outriggers that you use to balance and turn.”

“Wow,” exclaimed Josh. For someone whose outdoor pursuits once amounted to the occasional round of golf and the odd session shooting hoops with the President and senior staff, Josh was looking very enthusiastic. 

“Have you ever skied , Josh?” asked David.

“Years ago, in Vermont, although I was pretty much a novice,” said Josh.

“Well if you decide to take it up again, you’ll find you can be very independent - I can even get onto a chairlift unaided using my ski. And it lets you tackle some pretty challenging terrain.”

“So did you take lessons or what?” Josh asked.

“I learnt at Lake Tahoe. They have an adaptive ski school at a place called Alpine Meadows,” David told him.

He launched into an in-depth description of the ski school and its programs, so much so that I suspected they were paying him commission for recruiting new students. While this was going on I began gathering up the plates and cutlery, taking them through to the kitchen where I started up the coffee maker. I wondered how long David intended to stay. My plans for the evening had gone seriously awry and I didn’t particularly want to initiate the conversation I’d promised for Josh and myself when David finally took his leave.

“So, Sam, how do you feel about a skiing holiday - I think Josh is all fired up,” David said as I handed out the coffee cups.

“Maybe, when we’ve got some free time,” I answered non-comittally. “I can’t imagine when that’ll be, though.”

“Sam can’t even find a free weekend for his beloved sailing,” said Josh. I looked at him and he gave me a fond smile. I felt a sudden stab of guilt at my resentment of David’s presence as Josh seemed to be having such an enjoyable time.

“Ugh! Sailing!” said David, his distaste unmistakable. “Now that’s one thing I’ve never had an inclination to do.”

“And yet there are people with all sorts of disabilities who take part in it,” I said.

“I have no desire to get wet, throw up or find myself in a force ten gale,” David said dismissively. “I am, however, planning to take flying lessons.”

“Expensive,” remarked Josh.

“Yeah, but just imagine the freedom of taking flight. Once in the air, Josh, we’re taking part in something on equal terms with people who’ve got the full use of their legs. We can go exactly where they go, at the same speed and on the same terms.”

“Josh can do that in his car,” I said sharply. “And I don’t think he needs to learn to fly to prove his worth against anybody able-bodied. He’s the most able person I know, on *all* levels.”

There was an awkward pause. David smiled slightly and shrugged his shoulders as if to say ‘whatever.’ Josh cleared his throat.

“I don’t think David intended it as any sort of a comment on me, Sam.” He smiled over at David, jerking his head in my direction. “Sam gets a little sensitive on my behalf.”

Despite feeling well and truly slapped down. I couldn’t help but retaliate. “What Josh means is that he hates for anyone to think I’m fighting his battles for him.”

“Let’s not go there, Sam.” Josh gave me a long look before draining his coffee cup. “Now, David, didn’t you want me to take a look at the material your researcher’s pulled together?”

That gave me my opportunity to make my escape. “Well if you don’t mind I’ll make myself scarce,” I said. “I have some work I brought home. I’ll see you before you go, David.”

“Yeah. Thanks for dinner - it was delicious.” His tone was cool but friendly.

I breathed a sigh of relief as I shut the bedroom door and flopped down on the bed. The evening had been worse than I imagined. I had the sensation that I’d been sitting looking in on something I couldn’t fully understand. Suddenly I remembered those first few weeks after Josh’s diagnosis and prognosis. It had been a terribly difficult time. We were both devastated by the news of the effect of his injuries and it had been made doubly worse by the strain it had put on our relationship. But as the months had gone past, I like to think I’d been a help and support to Josh. I knew I could never fully feel and understand what he was going through, but I thought I’d reached a degree of empathy that helped me appreciate some of the pain and problems that Josh dealt with. Some of that was physical, some was emotional. And following on from that I was happy that we’d been able to share the way Josh had healed and continued to heal.

But tonight I felt that I was back in the same position I was when Josh began his stay at the NRH. For him, that was the moment he’d fully faced up to the fact that his disability was permanent. For me, I entered uncharted territory, watching reactions and emotions that I’d never seen Josh go through until that time. He tried to push me away. We argued, we fought, we spent whole afternoons and evenings sitting in each other’s company not speaking. But we got through it. Hearing Josh talking to David tonight it was like being pushed away again. 

Excluded.

I lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Although Josh had been unaware of my other plans for the evening, I couldn’t help feeling aggrieved that I hadn’t been able to ask for his help with my dilemma. Okay, I thought. In that case, why don’t I just make the decision for myself, one that I can live with.

Listening to my head told me I should tell Richard I couldn’t help him, but I would be secure in the knowledge that I hadn’t embarrassed the administration, I hadn’t jeopardized any important policy or legislative initiatives.

Listening to my heart told me to call Richard to say I’d meet with the Vogels and explore my options for helping them.

I picked up my cell phone from the nightstand, found Richard’s number and waited for it to connect.

“Richard Taylor.”

“Hi, it’s Sam. Sam Seaborn.”

“Hey! At last!”

“Yeah ... sorry it’s taken me a little while to get in touch.”

“Don’t worry about it. Look, I understand if you can’t help out ... “

I cut in before he could go any further.

“When can the Vogels get to DC?”

***

As I lay there listening to Josh moving around in the bathroom I contemplated pretending I was asleep when he finally came to bed. I suspected that he’d want to confront me about my behavior at dinner, and at that point I just didn‘t have the energy or the desire to enter into one of Josh‘s nit picking analyses of every word, tone and nuance of the evening’s conversation. It had the potential to end up as a full-blown row. For myself I believed I was fully justified in the way I’d responded but I didn‘t see why I should be put in the situation of making the case for my defense. I felt that I’d come under attack as a result of what I saw as David’s subtle attempts to get Josh aligned against me by the power of his ideas. My conclusion was that any view I voiced would hold little value with David because I had no idea what it was like to be disabled, save by second hand experience as Josh’s partner. But avoiding the issue by feigning sleep seemed cowardly.

Nothing had been said earlier when David finally left for his hotel. Josh had poked his head round the bedroom door to tell me David’s cab had arrived and did I want to say goodnight? I put down the novel I was reading - was it my imagination or did Josh’s eyes flicker towards it, noting that it looked nothing like the work I‘d alluded to earlier? - and followed him into the hallway. David and I exchanged the usual polite, end-of-the-evening pleasantries, Josh accompanied him to the cab and I went into the kitchen to load the dishwasher. I’d hardly started before Josh came in and shooed me off to bed, silencing my protests with an insistence based on the fact that I’d done all the work cooking dinner. But just because things were all calm at that point didn’t mean that a storm wasn’t brewing in the distance. The short solitary period in our bed gave me time to brood on that.

With my back towards Josh I felt the bed dip as he moved over from his wheelchair. Nothing was said as he undressed. He stretched out next to me and I heard the light on the nightstand snap off. Emitting a small grunt with the effort of it, he rolled onto his side, using his hands to move his legs into a comfortable position. I waited for what I thought would be the inevitable first salvo. Instead, to my surprise Josh spooned against me. His hand touched my hip, ran down my thigh. I felt his breath on my neck, followed by the soft pressing of his lips against my shoulder.

“I wanna make love to you, Sam.” His voice was husky, enhancing the unvarnished demand that shaped his words.   
I rolled onto my back, letting Josh ease himself over so that his upper body lay against mine. He kissed me soundly, his fingers making easy passes through my hair. I relaxed as best as I could, but my heart wasn’t in it. My little encounter with David had left me feeling unsettled; the mental image of his smile and shrug of the shoulders stung like a sharp little barb. Then of course there was my recently made arrangement with Richard that he would call me as soon as he could confirm the Vogel’s visit. That very definitely had the potential to come back and bite me. So I lay there, distracted and tense while Josh stroked and petted me, until eventually the foreplay came to an abrupt stop.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” The pressure of Josh against my chest lessened as he leaned up on an elbow. It was dark but I could imagine the puzzled expression on his face.

“Nothing,” I replied, making a show of pulling him towards me, stretching up an arm to fondle his jaw line. I got a little sinking feeling inside as he resisted, pushing my hand away but maintaining a hold on it. I began to wish that I’d suppressed my feelings, let myself become lost in the sensation of Josh doing the things to my body that only he knew how.

“What just happened tonight?” Josh asked evenly. The earlier desire, however, was absent from his voice.

“I don’t know what you mean,” I replied, at the same time knowing Josh would see right through my dissembling. 

Josh sighed, and his hair tickled my chest as he bent his head in exasperation. He stayed that way for a few seconds before leaning over to switch on the light. I knew I couldn’t give an impression of perplexed ignorance with the gaze of those shrewd brown eyes raking my face.

“You don’t like him, do you?” he asked finally.

“Who? David?” I pulled away my hand from the grip that Josh had maintained on it the whole time.

“No, the Grinch who stole Christmas,” he exploded. “Of course David.”

Josh lay down on his back. The warmth of his ardor had cooled so much it was plummeting towards absolute zero. His mouth had set in a straight line and the look he gave me was uncompromising.

“I knew there was something wrong but I thought I was reading too much into it,” he went on.

“I guess this is all because I didn’t agree with him about being able to fly like a bird ... how getting into a light aircraft somehow makes you more of a person.” 

“He didn’t say that.” Josh’s voice was low but I couldn’t mistake the annoyance.

“I didn’t like his implication. What was it? Something about taking part in something on equal terms with able bodied people?” My voice started getting louder as I hit my stride. “Take up skiing if you must, Josh, or go buy a plane, but don’t do it because you’ve got to keep trying to measure up to some sort of benchmark set by him.”

By this time Josh was staring at me in disbelief. “You know, it’s not that I mind you disagreeing with David, even though I think you’re totally over-reacting, it’s the way you couldn’t even be bothered to take part in any of the conversation.”

I couldn’t help but let out a bark of laughter at that statement. “Yeah, like you were interested in my opinion or views.”

“That’s crap, Sam. You sat there all evening positively radiating Ivy League disdain. You didn’t even make the effort to join in.”

“Well it was a little difficult for me to get enthused when you and David started swapping anecdotes about choosing a new wheelchair.”

Josh flinched, his body stiffening. Jesus Christ, did I just say that? I asked myself. Josh’s eyes narrowed; as he drew in a breath I could see the pinched skin around his nostrils. He looked as if he was in shock, and God help me I suppose he was as a result of my callous remark. 

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck!” I said, clapping a hand over my eyes. I slid over to Josh, tried to place a hand on his shoulder as he turned away from me. “I’m sorry, baby, I’m sorry ... “

The light was snapped off. Josh’s voice, dangerously quiet, came out of the darkness. “I’m sorry we bored you Sam. I should have guessed when you said you needed to work.” He paused. “Oh, but it was actually a novel you were reading, wasn’t it?”

It was almost dawn before I slept.

***

I opened my eyes. The first few seconds of consciousness were quickly followed by a horrible shameful feeling as I remembered what I’d said to Josh the night before. Turning my head I wondered if he were still asleep. Underneath the shame was a sensation of dread at the thought of facing Josh’s hurt and anger.

He *was* awake. I don’t know how long he’d been lying there gazing at me.

But he didn’t look angry.

“Josh ... “ I began.

“Sssh.”

I couldn’t believe it as Josh moved towards me, kissed me gently, then drew back.

“I’m sorry,” I said. I couldn’t think of anything more meaningful, couldn’t give any excuses for saying something as cruel as I had. “I am so, so sorry.”

“You know, I lay awake for hours thinking about what you said.” Josh’s face looked so sad I could have cried. “I won’t pretend it didn’t hurt. I went over and over it until I suddenly thought you must have felt bad about something to have said what you did.”

“It doesn’t matter how I felt,” I protested. “It was unforgivable to say what I did.”

“Why did you say it, Sam? You must have a reason to strike out at me like that. What did I do wrong?”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” I said. “Well, maybe not consciously.”

Josh sighed, maybe a little exasperatedly. “You’re going to have work with me here. I’ve been going through the whole evening in my mind and the only things that stick out are you disagreeing with David and for the rest of the time not saying very much at all. And that’s just not like you, Sam. You’re always the one who can speak to anyone about anything. Even if you’ve got nothing in common with a person or don’t find them all that interesting, you’re just too damn polite to let it show. But last night ...”

He didn’t bother finishing the sentence, mainly because he didn’t need to. Josh was right, I always made the effort to be sociable, particularly with someone that Josh seemed to have some regard for. 

Josh pressed his hand lightly against the side of my face. “Tell me, Sam,” he said, “because if you don’t I can’t make this right.”

“Remember those first few weeks at the NRH, how I tried to help you and you just kept pushing me away?” I asked.

Josh nodded. “You don’t know how much I regret that.”

“And remember how you seemed to find it easier to talk to Julie?” I went on, referring to the nurse who’d been assigned to care for Josh during his stay in the rehabilitation unit. “That’s how I felt tonight ... that you’d pushed me away and found someone else you could talk to.”

There was no response from Josh. I shrugged and looked away. Now I’d said it, it sounded pretty pathetic. Worse than that, my over-sensitive reaction had resulted in me wounding Josh. “But that’s no excuse for talking to you the way I did,” I said. I swallowed hard because I could tell my voice was becoming suspiciously shaky.

“I didn’t know, Sam I didn’t even consider that was the problem. I just thought you were bored and maybe a little annoyed we spent the evening entertaining instead of doing whatever else you had in mind. I‘m truly sorry you felt left out. It wasn‘t intentional.”

“Stop being so damned magnanimous,” I said, trying to sound as if I was fully in control of my emotions. I blinked vigorously before turning back to look at Josh. “What I said was crass ... cruel.”

“It wasn’t the most loving thing you’ve ever said to me,” Josh agreed. “But if you think I’m going to demonstrate how I got my stunning SAT score by coming up with a list of synonyms for crass and cruel, you’re mistaken. I’m guessing you want me to make you feel better by punishing you, but I’m not gonna.”

Now it was my turn to flinch, but Josh took the sting out of his words by gently running his forefinger along my cheekbone. “And anyway,” he whispered, “you’re doing a pretty good job of it all on your own. You think I didn’t know you were tossing and turning all night?”

“Oh, Josh,” I gasped, leaning up to pull him to me in a tight embrace.

“You think one careless remark negates all the wonderful things you do to care for me, to love me?” His voice was muffled, which wasn’t surprising since I’d jammed his head into the crook of my neck. “Besides ... “

Josh lifted his head to grin at me. 

“It made up for the time you bored me rigid discussing jogging shoes with Charlie,” he finished.

“Oh.”

“Of course, there’s always the chance you could be jealous.” Josh’s grin had transformed from merely mischievous to downright wicked.

“I am not!” I protested, but to my own ears it sounded a little too loud. Because this was the second time someone had suggested I might be jealous of David. And when I examined my feelings I didn’t know if I was jealous and if so, exactly *why* I was jealous. If it *was* jealousy, was it because David could relate to Josh in a way I couldn’t? Or was it the jealousy a lover felt for a possible rival?

“Hey.” My eyes focused on Josh. The mocking smile had gone. “I’m only teasing, Sam.” 

Josh’s hand was resting on my chest. He slid it down so that it rested flat against my stomach. His touch was warm; he began to trace small patterns on my skin with his fingers and thumb.

“Mmm ... mm.” It was all I could manage to say. Josh’s other hand touched the inside of my thigh. “Ooooh.” The sound this elicited was expelled on a sigh.

“It’s Saturday, remember? We don’t have to be at work until nine,” Josh murmured. “Why don’t we do some of what we *didn’t* do last night?”

So I lay beneath Josh, happy to let him take control, losing myself in the taste and feel of him. I came alive at the touch of his fingers and lips, letting the sheer joy of loving Josh and having him love me become the dominant emotion. 

And at that point nothing else mattered.

***

** Five days later **

I pushed open the plate glass door leading into the hotel, scanning the lobby which was crowded with guests checking in and out, porters pushing trolleys piled high with luggage and other people coming and going for any number of reasons. I peered round a stand filled with maps and pamphlets advertising the numerous tourist attractions of DC and finally spotted the face I was looking for. Richard Taylor hurried towards me from his vantage point near the hotel restaurant, his expression showing obvious relief. I’d had a problem finding a cab, and my late arrival had evidently made him anxious.

“Sam! Thanks for agreeing to meet.” He took my arm and steered me towards the restaurant. “I thought it would be better if we talked in the hotel. This place doesn’t see too many people in our line of business.”

John and Carolyn Vogel had checked into the Holiday Inn at Georgetown. Richard had chosen the hotel for precisely the reason that it wasn’t one of the hotels in the center of DC that tended to be frequented by lobbyists, politicians and government staff. Nevertheless, it was clear he was anxious to keep our meeting within the confines of the hotel rather than take it to a restaurant or coffee shop where there was always the chance we would be seen, even if this were somewhat unlikely. Anyone whose suspicions would be raised by the sight of a member of the President’s senior staff meeting with a staffer from State and a couple of obvious out of towners would more than likely be within the vicinity of the White House, the Capitol or any one of a number of federal government buildings rather than in Georgetown on a Wednesday afternoon. I’d slipped out of the White House on the pretext of needing some fresh air. Since myself, Toby and a team of speechwriters had been closeted in a tiny conference room on the second floor of the West Wing for the best part of five hours this wasn’t as feeble an excuse as I’d feared. But I knew I couldn’t take more than thirty minutes for this meeting without awkward questions being asked.

Richard stopped in his tracks before we had actually walked into the restaurant. I could see there were only three or four tables occupied, and it didn’t take me long to deduce which of the people in the room were the Vogels. The couple in their late middle age sitting at a corner table had their eyes riveted on the entrance to the restaurant. Even from that distance I could see the tension in them, the way they held themselves stiffly, the sudden look of realization as they caught sight of me and Richard.

“Listen, Sam.” Richard’s normally cheerful, round face was serious. “I told them about President Afonso’s visit.”

I wasn’t surprised. Two days ago we’d been told that the head of state of Brazil would be visiting the United States. He would spend two days in Washington DC for talks with President Bartlet, culminating in a state dinner in the White House. From the point of view of the Vogels this was serendipity. I wasn’t so optimistic.

“Well, they’d find out soon enough,” I conceded. “I just hope they’re not expecting me to perform some sort of diplomatic miracle by getting Afonso to pardon their son and his girlfriend. There’s no way I’m going to be able to raise this issue directly with him.”

“I know, I work for State, don’t I?” Richard asked rhetorically. “But maybe President Bartlet ... ?”

“Let’s go and talk to the Vogels before we start making any promises, okay?” I said evasively.

Richard gave a sharp nod then led the way to the table. John and Carolyn Vogel stood up as we approached. He was a large man with dark, thinning hair, his wife was small and blonde. They both looked as if they hadn’t slept for days.

“John, Carolyn, this is Sam Seaborn, Senior Adviser to the President,” Richard said by way of introduction.

We shook hands. “I can’t thank you enough for agreeing to see us, Mr Seaborn,” John Vogel said as we sat down.

“Please, call me Sam.”

I was interrupted by the arrival of the waiter. None of us felt inclined to eat lunch, so we simply settled on coffee.

“Did you fly in this morning?” I asked, making small talk while the waiter fussed around with cups, saucers and coffee pot.

“Yes. We got a direct flight from Newark.” Mrs Vogel fiddled nervously with her spoon as she spoke. Her husband put his hand over hers to stem the movement. “Do you know New Jersey at all ... Sam?”

“Yes, I do, actually. I went to Princeton.”

“Ah.” 

There was an awkward silence. No-one wanted to begin discussing the real reason for our presence there until the waiter had departed. After making sure there was nothing else he could get for us, he finally made himself scarce. Richard glanced over at me before coughing nervously and turning back to look at Mr and Mrs Vogel.

“Sam hasn’t got much time so why don’t you tell him what the current situation is with Graham?” he asked.

John Vogel gripped his wife’s hand even harder. “The conditions in that jail are awful. He’s locked up with some ... well, some really bad people. Violent people. And they don’t take kindly to him being an American.”

“Is he getting visits from the embassy?” I asked.

John nodded. “They visit every couple of months.” He shrugged. “But what can they do? He has food, shelter, there aren’t any visible signs of ill-treatment. All the State Department will say is he broke the law, he had a fair trial, Brazil is a sovereign state and a visiting US citizen has to comply with their laws.”

“Fair trial? How can you say that?” Carolyn Vogel’s voice was low, but she almost spat the words out. “It happened so quickly we didn’t even have the chance to get him a good lawyer. And what about the people from the village? They had no chance. It’s to help them he’s talking about going on hunger strike.”

“And he’s so worried about Sarah it’s driving him crazy,” her husband interrupted. “Please, can you give us *anything*, any sort of assurance that you can take this higher?”

I looked into John Vogel’s eyes and all I could see was a parent’s worst nightmare, the knowledge that his child was suffering and he could do damn all about it. It mattered not one jot that the child was twenty-five years old and he’d gone into things with his eyes wide open.

“Is he serious about the hunger strike?” I asked. It was brutal, but I had to be sure it wasn’t some sort of posturing on the part of Graham Vogel. John looked at me in disbelief.

“Of course he’s serious.” He leaned over towards me. His face was close to mine and I drew back reflexively. “You think I don’t know my own son? He’s an idealist ... there’ve been times in the past when I wished he wasn’t ... “

“Wait.” I could hear the alarm bells ringing. “Has he been in trouble before? Has he broken the law in this country?”

“And what if he had? You’re saying if that’s the case the government would think he deserves to rot in that hell hole?” John Vogel looked furious. “No wonder the official channels have been paying lip service to helping him if they think he’s some sort of subversive.”

“John, calm down,” said Richard. “Sam has to ask these questions.”

“Look,” I said, “before I take it back to the White House I have to be sure there’s nothing in Graham’s past - or Sarah’s for that matter - that could embarrass the administration. I know from experience that these things can come back to bite us.”

John drew in a deep breath then shook his head. “There’s nothing. He spent a lot of time at Columbia getting involved with student politics and I worried that he’d not get his degree. But there was nothing illegal, I promise.”

“Good.” I let out a relieved breath. “So when does he intend to embark on this protest?”

“His brother Geoff is in Brazil now. He managed to get some visitation rights and called me last night to say he’s managed to persuade him not to go ahead with it until we know whether you can help us or not.” He stopped speaking to nod to the waiter who’d come back to replenish our coffee cups. “So can you? Will you speak to the President?”

I’d reached the point of the discussion that I’d dreaded. “It’s not quite as easy as that,” I said, trying to keep my tones as measured as possible." I won’t be able to go directly to the President with this. That’s not the way these things happen.”

For the most part Carolyn Vogel had sat silent during our meeting, but this seemed to galvanize her. “Richard said you’re a Senior Adviser to the President. Doesn’t that mean you can go to him and *advise* him to do something about my son’s case?”

“Mrs Vogel, the title Senior Adviser doesn’t mean I can tell the President what he can and can’t do. Generally I’ll provide counsel on policy or constitutional matters. I don’t have the authority to dictate to him. Besides,” I shifted my gaze from Mrs Vogel to her husband as I could see her eyes had begun to fill with tears, “in terms of the senior staff I’m fairly low down in the pecking order. I can take your case to someone who has more influence with the President, then we’ll take it from there.”

“I see.” John Vogel looked at his wife who looked shattered. “If that’s the best you can offer ... “

“Believe me,” Richard said, “if anyone can plead Graham’s case Sam can. He’s had a lot of experience as a litigator.”

“I promise, I’ll do my best,” I said. “I’ll let Richard know as soon as I have some news. It may take a little time for anything to happen from our end so in the meantime, if Graham’s brother could get him to forget this idea of going on hunger strike ... applying this sort of pressure to governments hasn’t got much of a history of success.”

I glanced at my watch, stood up and held out my hand. “I’m sorry to rush off like this ... “

The Vogels followed suit. “We appreciate all you’re doing for us,” John Vogel said.

“You’re welcome.” I shook hands with them both. As I left the restaurant I saw them sit back down, two desperate people who were dealing with a situation that was as far outside their realm of experience as anything could be. Carolyn Vogel was crying.

Richard followed me into the lobby. “You don’t hold out much hope of being able to help, do you?” he asked.

“You know how it is,” I replied. “I’ll see if someone can take it to the President.”

“Josh?” he asked.

I took a breath, held onto it for a second. “No, I’m going to speak to Leo.”

“You do mean business,” he remarked with a wry smile." If he could speak to the President ... “

“Don’t get too excited,” I warned him. It seemed that every time I promised something I then had to tear down any fragile hope I’d created. I pushed open the plate glass door. The day had clouded over; the light outside had a slight yellow-gray tinge as the sun slipped further and further behind the gray cover which was sweeping over the sky, probably coming in from somewhere over the Atlantic. A cab drew up. As it’s passengers spilled out I held out my hand to let the driver know he’d gotten a new fare.

“How is Josh, by the way?” Richard asked as I opened the cab door.

“He’s fine, thanks. Busy.”

“Tell him I said hi.” He leaned over into the car as I settled myself in the back seat. “And thanks, Sam.”

“Sure. I’ll be in touch.”

He sketched a wave, then walked away, back into the hotel. I wondered how his next conversation would go with the Vogels. I thrust the image of their stricken faces to the back of my mind and told the driver to take me to Pennsylvania Avenue. I spent the rest of the journey rehearsing what I’d say to Leo.

*** 

I walked into Margaret’s office and found the red-headed secretary hanging something in the window. She stepped back to look at it appraisingly which was when I could see it was some sort of an ornament with crystals. I coughed slightly to gain her attention.

“Feng shui,” she said.

“Excuse me?” I asked.

“I’m rearranging my office so that it accords with the principles of feng shui. The hanging crystals activate my ch’I.”

“Right.” I decided not to probe any further, knowing Margaret’s propensity to expound at length on whatever her latest craze was. “Leo said he could give me a few minutes this morning?”

“He’s running a little late. He’s just come back from meeting with the Vice President.”

“That’s okay. I can wait.” It was the Saturday following my meeting with the Vogels, the soonest Margaret had been able to find me a slot with Leo. We were having a fairly quiet weekend, so I could afford to hang around until he was free. I leaned against a filing cabinet and watched as Margaret placed a glass bowl on her desk. It was filled with water and a layer of smooth stones lay in the bottom.

“It should really be a water feature, but I don’t think the White House estates department would let me install one,” she explained when she saw my questioning glance. 

“I’m sure that’ll do just as well,” I said.

“Margaret!” Leo’s voice preceded him through the doorway connecting his secretary’s office to his own. “What the hell is this?”

He stood there brandishing a small glass object.

“It’s a crystal ball,” Margaret answered, totally straight-faced.

“Do I *look* like a Romany?” Leo asked. “If the President asks for my counsel on something is he expected to cross my palm with silver?”

“It’s not that sort of crystal ball,” said Margaret. “In feng shui concepts it attracts wealth and good luck. You can also put it on top of your phone.”

Leo suddenly realized I was standing there trying not to laugh. “You see what I have to put up with?”

He walked over to Margaret’s desk and placed the crystal ball next to the bowl with the water and the stones. “I take it this is part of the same crazy idea?”

“It helps to activate my ch’I ... energies,” Margaret clarified.

“Well, just keep this stuff out of my office.” He turned to face me." You wanted to see me, Sam?”

“Yeah.” I pushed away from the filing cabinet and took a deep breath. All of a sudden it struck me that I was actually nervous about the upcoming conversation. I braced myself as I followed Leo into his office.

“Feng shui,” he muttered to himself as he sat down behind his desk. I hovered in front of it, uncertain whether to initiate the conversation or let Leo enquire why I wanted to see him. “Sit down, Sam,” he said, waving his arm towards one of the visitor chairs which are way more comfortable than the ones in the other senior staff offices.

“Thanks.” I sat down and waited.

“So you wanted to see me?” Leo asked.

“Leo, this is by way of being something a bit more personal ... “ I started.

“Sam, if you’ve got some sort of private issue you should really speak to Toby first,” he interrupted, mistakenly thinking I wanted to discuss some sort of problem personal to me.

“No, no, I don’t mean that sort of personal, I mean it’s an issue I have a personal interest in. I was hoping you could help.”

“Go on,” he said cautiously.

I decided to plunge straight in. “I need the President to intercede with President Afonso on behalf of Graham Vogel and Sarah Jakes.”

Leo fixed me with a hard stare. The thought crossed my mind that maybe I’d been a little too direct. I opened my mouth to try to retrieve the situation, but before I could form a more diplomatic approach Leo beat me to the punch.

“Would you like to enlighten me as to just who these people are and why the President would consider speaking to another head of state at the behest of a member of his staff?”

I should have realized that Leo wouldn’t even remember them. Here was the man who accompanied the President into the Sit Room, who was there to give advice on national and international crises. The idea that he would have instant recall of two obscure Americans was ludicrous. 

“They were sentenced to ten years in jail for helping a group of Brazilian tribes people fight a mining company taking over their land. That was in January. I was told to give it some time, see what State could do through their diplomatic channels. Which has been precisely zero.”

Leo was slowly nodding his head. “Yeah, I remember the case.”

Encouraged by his remembering, I pressed on. “Leo, they really need our help. The prison conditions are harsh and ten years for civil disobedience is inhumane. It’s not just Graham and Sarah, but the people from the village who are in prison with them. They’ve been doubly punished - they’ve lost their land *and* their liberty.”

“Am I right in thinking that this Graham and Sarah organized the protest?” Leo asked.

“Yes.”

“Then maybe they should have thought about the effect their actions would have on these people before encouraging them to take part in a campaign that could only end in disaster,” he said drily.

“Leo, they were acting in the interests of the people they’d been living with ... their friends. They were trying to help.”

“God save us from well-intentioned amateurs.”

“That’s not fair, Leo!” I protested.

“And it’s not fair that their ill-conceived enterprise did no good whatsoever and ended up harming the very people they wanted to help,” he replied in exasperation.

“They’re American citizens.” I threw this into the mix in desperation - it was clear Leo had me wrong-footed.

“They’re American citizens who broke the law in a sovereign state,” he shot back. 

“Please, Leo, hear me out. Things are so desperate that Graham Vogel has threatened to go on hunger strike. There are some brutal people in those jails - inmates and officers. All I ask is would you consider taking this to the President, ask him to raise it with Afonso?”

“Sam, I’m gonna tell you now that there’s no chance of this forming part of any discussions on this visit. The trade talks are at a crucial stage, and frankly from what I can remember we can’t argue with the convictions and court case.” He paused. “Did you run this past anyone else before bringing this to me?”

“You mean Josh?” I asked.

“Right.”

I shook my head. “I know how he thinks about the whole thing. He’s sympathetic to their situation, but he’d have told me not to bother, leave it up to State.”

“But you thought you’d bring it to me anyway?” Leo’s tone was a little softer than it had been up to now.

I nodded. Figuring the conversation was at an end I stood up. “Thanks for hearing me out, anyway. I can’t pretend I’m not disappointed, but I understand if there’s nothing more to be done.”

“Wait a minute, Sam.” There was concern on his face. “You said Graham ... Vogel, right?”

“Yeah.”

“You said he’s threatening to go on hunger strike. How real is the threat?”

“I know that his brother has persuaded him not to go ahead with it, although if we can’t bring any more pressure to bear on the Brazilian government he may well do it eventually,” I replied.

Leo sighed. “I’m not even going to ask how you know this or who you’ve been speaking to.” He put on his glasses and glanced down at a document on his desk. It looked as if the conversation really was over now. I walked to the door. “Sam.”

“Yes.”

“I’ll see what I can do when President Afonso’s visit is over. I’ll speak to the Secretary if State, but try not to be too optimistic.”

“Thanks, Leo.”

I opened the door. When I looked back he was immersed in his papers. As I walked through Margaret’s office to the sound of her feng shui wind chimes I felt as if I’d totally failed in my mission.

***

The feeling only got worse when I cradled the phone after a difficult conversation with Richard Taylor. I’d decided to call him immediately following my meeting with Leo, figuring I’d tackle this unwelcome task as quickly as possible. Richard was saddened and not a little angry about the outcome, compounded no doubt by the fact that he’d then have to deliver the news to John and Carolyn Vogel. For myself, I was a touch aggrieved that initially he laid part of the responsibility at my door, implying that I’d not been persuasive enough in pleading my case with Leo. I managed to calm him down eventually, by which point he apologized for giving me a hard time. But the conversation signed off on an awkward note, leaving me with a nasty sensation that I’d let him down. I liked Richard and over the years we’d gotten friendly enough to share the occasional beer at the Hawk and Dove. It was one of those occasions when responsibilities to one's job came up against a personal relationship with a nasty bump. 

At that point I wanted nothing more than to unburden myself on Josh. I stared at the polished wood of my desk, tracing the grain of it with my index finger. What would it matter if I told Josh now, I thought. After all, Leo had said there was nothing to be done until after the state visit, but maybe Josh could come up with some new ideas. If not, I was sure I’d at least feel a lot better by confiding in him. I knew he might be a little mad at first, but he’d come round. I imagined how he’d look at me, his expression softening as his eyes took on that warm quality that showed how much he cared and hated to think of me hurting. I stopped rubbing my finger along the desk. It was a wonder I hadn’t worn a groove in it as one look at my watch told me I’d been sitting there for a full five minutes trying to decide whether to go seek out Josh. I looked at the documents piled on my in tray that I’d printed off only that morning, intending to take this relatively quiet time to read through the non-urgent reports and minutes that invariably took a back seat to the ever changing priorities of the West Wing. Picking up a fat bundle of papers I realized that when it came to choosing between digesting a report entitled “Reform in the Pensions Industry” and spending time with Josh, there was no contest. I left my desk and headed for his office.

Even for a Saturday the operations bullpen was uncharacteristically quiet. Donna was sitting at her computer working on some spreadsheet - probably the never-ending task of updating Josh’s work schedule - while Mike, the assistant he’d taken on after returning to work after the shooting, was sifting through papers in a large box file. Apart from them, the only other people were a couple of interns. None of them showed any sign of having seen me, so I began walking towards Josh’s office until I noticed his door was shut. I did a quick about turn to Donna’s desk.

“Is he in a meeting?” I asked.

Without turning round, Donna replied, “You guys do live together. don’t you?”

“Excuse me?” I didn’t feel up to dealing with Donna’s sarcasm. Instantly I could feel it rubbing me up the wrong way.

“Let me rephrase that,” Donna said, ceasing her typing and favoring me with a glance, “I know Josh isn’t the most communicative person before he has his first cup of coffee, but you do talk to one another in the mornings?”

“You’ve lost me,” I said. “Why don’t you stop talking to me like you’re a cryptic crossword and I might understand you.”

“Sam,” Mike called over ,“he’s being interviewed for the documentary. They’ve been in there since nine o‘clock.”

I consulted my watch. It was way past noon. “Yeah, I knew that,” I lied. “I just thought he’d have been finished by now.”

But in truth I’d totally forgotten. Despite Josh reminding me that very morning, my meeting with Leo had driven all thoughts of it out of my head. During a quick break for pizza in his office the previous evening he’d explained to me that the production company had finished all the filming that showed him in the various aspects of his job. Accordingly, that Saturday had been kept free for him to provide his most personal contribution of all: an interview covering the impact of his injuries and how he coped in practical and emotional terms with his disability. Inwardly I berated myself for having so easily forgotten how nervous Josh had been when he woke up at three am, unable to sleep. I thought back to how I’d held him, my hands seeking out those parts of his body that responded so readily to my touch, both arousing and relaxing him in equal measure until he finally fell into a fitful slumber. 

“Sam?” Mike was looking at me with a slightly concerned expression on his face and I suddenly realized I’d been staring, unseeing, at a calendar on the far wall.

“I’ll ... er ... catch him later,” I muttered, turning away. I’d already caught Donna raising a skeptical eyebrow. Whether it was directed at my not very convincing attempt to disguise my forgetfulness or was a comment on my sudden lapse of concentration, I didn’t intend to stay and find out. At that moment those unread documents on my desk had become a very enticing prospect.

As it happened I didn’t get the chance to even open one of the folders. No sooner had I reached the door to my own office than Toby tapped me on the shoulder.

“In the Roosevelt Room. Now,” I heard him say.

“What’s in the Roosevelt Room?” I asked, turning round to look at him.

“You. Me. A couple of speechwriters I’ve corralled.”

“What’s going on?” I asked. We stopped, in mutual unspoken agreement, by the coffee machine. I picked up a couple of Styrofoam cups and filled them.

“Brainstorming session,” Toby replied, taking the proffered cup. He took a sip, pulling a face. “We need to come up with some ideas for speeches for President Afonso’s visit.”

“Okay,” I said. “It beats reading about the pension industry, I guess.”

“Don’t get too happy. The President has agreed to address the annual convention of pension providers. You know, demographic time bomb, ageing population, etcetera, etcetera.” Toby pushed open the door to the Roosevelt Room.

I groaned. “You’re joking.”

“Does this face look like it’s joking?” he asked.

“I guess not,” I sighed.

“Then consider that your next writing assignment,” Toby said. He turned his attention to the two speechwriters already sitting in the room. “Okay, people. Tell me how President Bartlet is going to wow the Brazilians.”

***

For the first twenty or so minutes of our brainstorming session the ideas came flying across the room. Toby stood at the flipchart, capturing the topics, writing them up in a random, unstructured fashion.

“US investments in Brazil.”

“US *banking* investments in Brazil.”

“The possibility of Brazil becoming self-sufficient in oil production.”

“The history of US.-Brazilian relations.”

“Brazil’s role in South America.”

“The economy.”

“Industrial development ... software, IT.”

I sat back, and despite a few pointed looks from Toby I hung back from contributing. Everything that I’d heard so far pointed to the inevitable bland speech peppered with subjects given an innocuous spin. The real issues would be discussed behind closed doors, when the two presidents began hammering out a potential trade agreement. 

“The environment.”

Toby scribbled it on his flipchart and waited. 

“Is that it?” he asked.

That’s when the devil got into me. “How about the Brazilian government stealing the rainforest from its indigenous tribes,” I said.

Toby glared at me, tossing his marker pen onto the table. “No.”

“What do you mean ’no’?! I demanded. “In brainstorming you write all the ideas down without evaluating them first..”

“Well, I just broke that rule,” he said. “Call it the Zeigler brainstorming technique.” He picked up the pen, and waited with it poised over the flipchart.

“US citizens in Brazilian prisons.” I sat back with my arms folded, daring him to write it up.

“Right, that’s it. Can I see you outside?” Toby stood holding the door open. I trailed after him into the corridor. Two pairs of inquiring eyes followed our exit.

“What was that all about?” he demanded. He tapped a finger against my head. “What the hell’s going on in there?”

“Toby, all that stuff ... yeah, it’s important, I know, but it’s so *safe*. There are other issues going on, things that need to be talked about, addressed.”

Toby narrowed his eyes. If he’d been in a cartoon a light bulb would have come on over his head. “It’s about those archaeologists, isn’t it? Your very own cause celebre.” He sighed resignedly. “What have you done now?”

I decided to give him the edited version - that is, the one that omitted my meeting with the Vogels, but included my recent conversation with Leo. After all, it would have looked worse if Toby found out about it from Leo himself rather than me.

“I asked Leo if he could take it to the President, ask him to raise it with Afonso.”

“Let me guess. He told you it wouldn’t be talked about on this trip but maybe he’d use his connections at State when the President had gone back to Brazil.”

“Yeah.” The word came out like a sigh. I leaned against the wall, staring at the carpet. “Well, he actually said he’ll speak to the Secretary of State.”

“Then that’s it, Sam,” Toby said. “You’ll have to accept that.”

“I know,” I reluctantly agreed. “And I’m sorry about what happened in there.” I jerked my head back towards the Roosevelt Room.

“We’ll just tell them you had a brainstorm of your own. Come on, we’ve got some speeches to scope out.”

We went back in. Toby gave the two junior speechwriters a stern look that brooked no enquiry or comment from them on my odd behavior and we spent the next hour planning the content of the speeches. Toby gave out individual assignments to research and draft sections of what would become the basis for President Bartlet’s public speaking during the state visit before telling us we could break for lunch. I made a dash for the mess, intending to grab a sandwich and a drink. If he was free I decided to eat it while I talked to Josh about my rapidly deteriorating day.

But when I reached the mess I saw I wasn’t going to get the chance to spend any time alone with Josh. As I stood in line to pay for my sandwich and bottle of water I caught sight of Josh and David Strachan at a corner table. They were sitting side by side, their heads close together. Josh sat with his elbows on the table, his chin propped on his clasped hands. They were deep in conversation; David was gazing intently at Josh whose expression was somber. I was about to go over to say ‘hi’ when in response to something Josh had said David touched his shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze. There are times when Josh can enter a crowded room and I don’t even have to see him, but I know he’s there even before I turn round. I know for a fact that he’d experienced the same thing. But that day in the mess he was oblivious to my presence. I just stood there, frozen, until I heard a voice asking did I want to pay for those? I came to my senses, dug in my pocket for some money and without looking back walked out of the room.

***

I spent the rest of the day trying to concentrate on my writing while at the same time obsessing about what I’d seen in the mess. I alternated between torturing myself about what was going on and attempting to tell myself that it was totally innocent. In this conflicted state I worked through until seven pm when I was interrupted by my phone ringing.

“Sam Seaborn.”

“Where’ve you been all day?” Josh’s voice sounded cheerful. I thought back to the serious look on his face earlier that day and wondered what had suddenly made him so happy.

“I called in to see you round about noon and you were being interviewed, then Toby decided to embark on a marathon speechwriting session for President Afonso’s visit.” I stopped short of telling Josh I’d seen him in the mess, deciding I’d wait and see if he’d tell me about his tête-à-tête with Strachan.

“Is he going to let you go home tonight? He does *know* it’s Saturday evening, doesn’t he?” Josh asked.

I ran my hand wearily through my hair. “I can’t leave yet. He wants to see the rough drafts of what we’ve written so far. Don’t wait for me ... go get some dinner.”

“You’re sure?”

An unwelcome picture of Josh and David in a restaurant sprang into my mind, but I pushed it hastily away. I figured I was being paranoid.

But just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean people aren’t out to get you.

“I don’t think I’ll get away much before ten,” I replied, feeling slightly foolish at the words that had just run through my head. “You head on home, I’ll grab something to eat here.”

“Okay,” said Josh lightly. “I’ll see you later. Love you.”

“Yeah. Me too.” 

I held the phone to my ear, hearing the slight click as the connection was broken. How easily Josh spoke those two little words, yet the softer tone so clearly conveyed what he was feeling. But for all I had no doubt of that, at that moment I let my mind open up to the thing that I’d been denying ever since David Strachan came into our lives. My fists clenched reflexively as I let the unpalatable thought enter my brain: that no matter how much a person loved the partner they’d committed to, that didn’t stop them being attracted to someone else. Whether that person ... no, wait a minute, I meant Josh, didn’t I? ... whether *Josh* acted on it was the sixty-four thousand dollar question.

It was at that point that I was rudely interrupted by the thump of a rubber ball against the window dividing my office from Toby’s. I turned to see him brandishing a sheaf of papers at me, which I took as a signal that he wanted to reconvene his little group of speechwriters. Once the first drafts had been produced, Toby liked to run a kind of peer group review meeting. We’d swap hard copies of each other’s work and provide comments and feedback to one another. It was a challenging process and not for the faint-hearted, but satisfied Toby that sufficient intellectual rigor had been applied to give the President quality material to work with. So pushing my personal problems to one side, I gave my work one last read through, pressed ‘Print’ and prepared myself for a long evening

***

It was almost eleven o’clock by the time my cab drove through Georgetown. My draft speech had been forensically taken apart by Toby and the other two speechwriters. I knew myself it wasn’t the best piece of work I’d done, but I came out of the meeting feeling ragged and tense. It wasn’t helped by my wondering what Josh had done that evening, and I found myself reverting to a childhood practice that verged on the superstitious. As the cab approached a set of traffic lights I told myself that if they stayed on green, David wouldn’t be sitting in our apartment. Just as we approached the intersection they turned red.

Letting myself into the apartment I strained my ears for any sounds that might indicate Josh had company. I could hear voices coming from the living room. Dropping my briefcase I pushed open the door, bracing myself for the cozy image that I was sure would confront me. An absurd feeling of relief rushed through me as I realized the voices I heard were actually an old episode of Frasier. Josh was sitting on the couch with a plate and an almost empty bottle of beer on the table in front of him. Gratefully, I flopped down next to him.

“I thought you said you’d be home by ten,” he said, picking up the remote and turning the TV off. He twisted round to face me, leaning over to kiss me lightly on the lips.

“I think I said not to expect me *before* ten,” I corrected. I leaned my head back against the couch, shutting my eyes. I felt Josh rest his hand against my head, his fingers teasing with my hair.

“Rough night, huh?” he asked.

“Mmm.” I didn’t feel like elaborating. I’d been through a critical mauling and I didn’t take kindly to it. 

“You want something to eat?” 

I shook my head. “We ordered Chinese.” I opened my eyes so I could see Josh’s reaction to my next statement. “I thought you might have had company.”

“Oh?” Josh looked mildly curious. He pushed himself away from me to pull his wheelchair nearer to the couch. “Who?”

“I thought you might have had dinner with David.” I watched as Josh slid from the couch onto his wheelchair.

“No.” He smiled in a confused sort of way. “What made you think that?”

He picked up his plate and pushed himself out of the room.

“Well you’d been working with him all day,” I called after him. There was no response, just the sound of a plate being put in the dishwasher and the fridge door opening and closing. A few seconds later Josh came back into the room. He handed me a bottle of beer.

“I thought the MSG in the Chinese might have made you thirsty. It usually does.”

Something stabbed at me inside. Guilt. There I was quizzing Josh about his evening because I was so suspicious about David Strachan, and then he does something so sweet and thoughtful. I leaned forward to take it from him.

“Thanks, babe,” I said.

“Pleasure.” He picked up the remains of his own drink and drained the bottle. “David flew back to New York.”

“Yeah?” Suddenly the pressures of the day seemed to lift a little.

“He’s got an editing suite there. He wants to take a look at the footage so far before he comes back next week to begin filming at the NRH.” 

“How did the interview go?” I asked.

“Fine,” came the response. I waited for him to elaborate but nothing more was forthcoming.

“Just ‘fine’?” I persisted.

“There’s nothing much to say about it. You’ll see it when it’s televised.“ Josh yawned and stretched. “Do you mind if I go to bed? I’m bushed.”

I looked at him more closely. Even though he sounded in good spirits he *did* appear tired and there was a strained look around his eyes, never a good sign.

“I’ll just finish this ... “ I indicated the bottle before placing it on the table. I stood up, leaning over Josh to press a kiss on his forehead as he looked up at me. “You go snuggle up and wait for me.”

“ ’kay.”

I watched as Josh left the room. The thoughts I’d been harboring all day now seemed absurd. No, worse, they sounded like the crazy delusions of someone who should have known better. Even the image of Josh and David sitting in the mess had taken on an innocent cast. I shook my head at my own stupidity and shrugged out of my jacket. As I sat down I noticed a photograph album lying on the table. I recognized it as one Jane Lyman had given us. I’d told her how keen I was to see some photos of Josh as a child and she’d obliged by bringing the album with her when she visited soon after Josh had moved into his new apartment. However, Josh had always refused to even open it. He still found it painful to see graphic reminders of how things used to be, so I was surprised that he‘d evidently decided to look at the contents. I, on the other hand, loved to pore over these depictions of Josh’s early life so I picked up the album and began to leaf through it.

Josh as a baby, lying in his mother’s arms with his father and Joanie looking on.

Josh, grinning, proud in his Little League uniform. 

Josh dressed in a dark suit on the occasion of his bar mitzvah, flanked by Noah and Jane. But no Joanie, and Josh looked solemn, his sad, brown eyes looking directly into the camera lens.

Josh aged seventeen, vacationing on Martha’s Vineyard, his auburn hair blowing in the breeze, his skin slightly bronzed. This time he was smiling. A gilded youth with a gilded future in front of him. My beautiful, splendid Josh, I thought. 

I finished my beer, switched off the lights and made my way to bed where my beautiful, splendid Josh lay waiting for me.

***

Josh was still awake. As I undressed I tried to press him on his interview, but he refused to be drawn.

“Later. Tell me what happened to keep you at work so long,” was all he said.

So I told him about the draft speech I’d written and how it had been ritually deconstructed and put back together again by Toby and company. But I couldn’t tell him what happened in the brainstorming session without revealing my meeting with Leo, and as I sat down on the edge of the bed I knew I really wanted to stop keeping this thing a secret from Josh.

“I had a meeting with Leo today,” I started. I didn’t turn round, I just sat there staring in the direction of the window. Something of my discomfort must have communicated itself to Josh judging by his response.

“Is there any reason why you’re sitting with your back to me ... should I be worried?” he asked.

I turned round and smiled slightly. “There’s no fooling you, is there?”

Josh returned the smile. “Get into bed and tell me what’s bothering you.”

I slid under the covers, leaning on my elbow so I could face Josh. “I wanted to ask him if he could persuade the President to raise the case of Graham Vogel and Sarah Jakes with Afonso.”

“You still think we can intervene in that?” Josh asked incredulously. “Sam, Afonso was re-elected. I know we thought he wouldn’t get in again and that a new administration would be more accommodating, but we’re back to square one. There’s no way he’s going to pardon those guys.”

“But there’s always a chance ... “

“And just what did Leo say?” Josh asked, although I guessed he already knew the answer to his question.

“Don’t, Josh. You can imagine what he said,” I answered.

Josh stretched an arm over to touch my face lightly with his fingertips. Through the jumble of thoughts that preoccupied me about the day’s events I absently noted that Josh’s right arm was clasped against his chest. 

“I even brought it up when we were brainstorming ideas for the President’s speeches for Afonso’s visit,” I went on.

Josh burst out laughing. I joined in despite myself. “Way to go, Sam. What the hell did Toby say?”

“He dragged me out of the room and let me know there was no chance the President was going to use his speech to lecture a visiting head of state about his country’s judicial system.”

“Hm.” Josh wasn’t laughing now, instead he narrowed his eyes and gave me a slow, empathetic smile. “You couldn’t help but try, though, could you?”

I took a deep breath. I’d come this far, and Josh was being so understanding. All at once I couldn’t bear deceiving him about the extent of my involvement in the whole affair. “Josh, there’s more.”

“Go on.” His brows came together in a questioning little frown.

“I met with Graham Vogel’s parents.”

Josh’s hand dropped from where it had been resting against my neck. “God, Sam,” he groaned, running his hand through his hair.

“I know,” I said. What else could I say?

A tiny silence inserted itself between us. “When?” Josh finally asked.

“Wednesday.” I looked down, studied Josh’s hand which now rested on my forearm. That’s a good sign, I thought, maybe he‘s not going to be mad at me.

“And can I ask where?” Josh queried.

“Georgetown Holiday Inn.”

“Well I suppose that’s something,” he remarked.

“What?”

“That you chose somewhere not overrun by politicos and journalists,” Josh said.

“Why, what did you expect? That I’d use the Hyatt up on the Hill?” I snapped.

“Hey, I’m only saying,” Josh said quietly, his voice only just louder than a whisper.

“Josh, I know it was a crazy thing to do.” I looked up to see him looking at me ... well, not angrily, I surmised. The thing was, I couldn’t read his expression.

“Who set the meeting up?” he asked.

“Richard,” I replied.

“Richard Taylor?” 

I nodded. Josh laughed explosively. “I might have guessed. So he’s decided to take you along on one of his little adventures? Or should I say crusades?”

“What do you mean?” 

“Sam, you know what he’s like,” Josh replied. “He thinks he knows better than everyone else. One of these days he’ll go too far and he’ll be out on his ear. He can be pretty arrogant.”

I stared at Josh. I’m sure my mouth must have been hanging open. Josh *Lyman* was calling someone else arrogant. 

“Did I just say something funny?” Josh asked, making me realize I must have been smiling.

“No,” I protested, but I was thinking that I’d remind him about it the next time his own ego was on show. “And don’t think that Richard’s influenced me on this. I got interested in their case months ago ... while you were still in hospital, if you remember.”

“Yeah, I know.” Josh looked as if he’d calmed down somewhat. 

“Even if Richard hadn’t been involved, I wanted to do something.”

“So how *were* the Vogels?” Josh asked. 

“Scared. Angry. I think they thought I could go straight to the President and tell him to intervene. It didn’t help that Richard told them I was a senior adviser to the President.”

“He really set you up, didn’t he?” Josh looked annoyed. “Maybe I should remind him just who he’s dealing with when he comes to the Deputy Director of Communications for help with one of his pet projects.”

I was horrified. “Christ, Josh! Can you hear yourself?”

“Okay, calm down.”

“No, I won’t,” I half yelled. “This is how *you* react when you accuse me of fighting your battles for you.”

That struck home. Josh stroked my arm. I took it as an apology of sorts. “Oh, Sam.” The words came out on a sigh. “You’re always so ... “

“Stupid?” I interjected ruefully.

“I was going to say principled,” Josh corrected me. “Look, I know how strongly you feel about this, but don’t do anything hasty. Please. I love your ideals, the way you always want to do the right thing. But sometimes it’s just a question of timing.”

“But that’s just it,” I said. “We always have to wait for the right time to act, wait until it’s expedient. Why can’t we just be the good guys and do the ethical thing?”

“That’s politics, Sam, you knew that when you got into this,” Josh pointed out. “Just wait a while. We’ll work something out.” 

I thought back to that day in New York when Josh had looked through that pane of glass into the conference room. That was the day I knew I trusted his judgment so implicitly that I’d follow him anywhere. *That* hadn’t changed one bit.

“Okay,” I agreed, albeit reluctantly.

“You know, Sam, you need to think about yourself ... the plans we‘ve got for you ... for us. Don’t forget what we talked about in Chesapeake. You can‘t jeopardize your future by doing something hasty.” Josh stretched out his arm to pull me towards him. “Come here.”

I went to lie down, intending to rest my head against Josh’s chest. Instead, I made contact with his right arm which he was holding in the same position I’d noticed earlier.

“Josh, you haven’t done that in so long.”

“What?” he asked. He looked genuinely puzzled.

“You’re holding your arm against your scar,” I explained. As soon as I mentioned it he looked down in surprise.

“I hadn’t realized,” he said, looking a little embarrassed. But he kept it there, just as he’d done in the first few months after his surgery. In fact, it was only on our trip to Boston in the spring when he’d let me actually touch the raised and reddened tissue that bisected his chest. 

“Babe, did something happen today?” I asked. I tried to move his arm, but he held firm, resisting me.

Josh looked away, stared up at the ceiling. “I kind of freaked out a little after the interview,” he said.

“Freaked out? How?” I put my hand flat against his face, turning his head so that he’d look at me.

“The interview was fine, but it brought back a lot of memories.” Josh’s eyes narrowed, giving the impression that he was wincing.

“Specifically?”

“Oh, the shooting, how it felt, what it was like to be told I’d never walk again ...stuff like that.” Josh laughed softly. “I even felt like I couldn’t breathe, I started thinking what if my artery tore again.”

“And that’s why you’re doing this?” I asked, lightly touching his arm. 

Josh nodded. “I suppose. I think I must still be scared, like I was in the hospital.”

I bent my head, kissed his neck and gently lifted his arm away from his chest. This time he let me. “It’s not going to tear. It’s good and strong. And even if there was a problem, the doctors can fix you again.”

“You promise?” Josh’s defenses were down, reminding me of how sweetly sensitive he can be.

“I promise.” And to seal the pledge I kissed him gently all the way down the lengthy scar.

“It made me remember those times I thought you could never love a man who’s ... damaged.” Josh’s voice was hoarse. It shook a little. “Half a man.”

“Never that. I love you more each day, Josh.” My lips were against his stomach, continuing their journey south. “And you’re not damaged. You’re gorgeous.”

Josh moaned softly. I moved farther down his body. My mouth touched his groin, the top of his leg.

“Talk to me Sam,” Josh pleaded, “I need ... I need you to tell me ... “

This was something I’d only dared to do recently. For months Josh had refused to let me kiss or even touch him below the waist because he couldn’t feel it, couldn’t enjoy the sensation. But I needed it, I yearned to let my fingers and mouth make contact with every part of Josh. So during one particularly abandoned bout of lovemaking I’d taken a chance and found that by describing exactly what I was doing I could turn Josh on as well as reach my own exquisite peak of arousal.

“I’m stroking your hip, Josh.” He groaned a little louder, his breath coming faster. “I’m kissing your leg ... oh, God, I’m sucking you, here, just inside your thigh ... and now ... “

“Yes ... yes ... “ Josh gasped. I felt his upper body jerk, his fingers finding the top of my head, twisting my hair. 

“My hand’s here ... between your legs ... you know ... you know where I‘m touching you, don‘t you baby?“

I caressed Josh’s unresponsive cock, heard him cry out. Physiologically he couldn’t feel this action, but in some deep, mysterious place in his psyche there was sensation, there was pleasure.

“Oh, Sam, Sam ... “

“It feels so good to touch you there, babe. Sweet Jesus, I’m hard, Josh ... I’m hard enough for both of us ... “

“Let me feel you, Sam ... let me love you ... “

And so he did. I kissed my way back up his body so I could I lie there with my lover’s hand enfolding me, the rhythmic movements accompanied by honeyed kisses that he scattered over my face, my eyelids. I rocked against Josh as he kissed me fiercely, his tongue delving hungrily inside my mouth, his hand fucking me faster and more urgently. The love I felt for this magnificent man rushed through me, physically and spiritually. I cried out his name again and again as I climaxed, our arms wrapped around one another as we clung, trembling, in the calm that followed the storm of our lovemaking. Eventually I rolled onto my back and stretched out my arm. Josh’s heart beat against my hand, steady and strong.

“Nothing much wrong with that,” I smiled. Josh took hold of my hand and tenderly touched my fingertips to his lips. He moved against me, letting me gather him up in my arms. He was against my chest, his head tucked somewhere under my chin.

“Josh,” I said.

“Mmm?”

“Do you want to talk some more about what happened today. After you’d finished filming, I mean?” I rubbed my thumb on his lower back, a little thing that helped to soothe him.

He shook his head. “I talked it through with David.”

At the sound of his name I felt myself stiffen. “You did?”

“He was fantastic, Sam. I tried not to show how rattled I was, but he could see it straightaway. He hustled the sound man and the camera man out of the room as quickly as he could, then he just sat there until I could speak. God, I’m so glad he was the one doing the interview.”

“I thought they were getting some professional interviewer in?” I asked, surprised.

“Megan had this brainwave that it would work really well if David did it. She could see what a rapport we’ve built up. I couldn’t have got through it with anyone else.”

“Why didn’t you come find me if you were feeling upset?” I asked. The warmth of afterglow was quickly being replaced by the chill of resentment towards David Strachan.

“Sam, David’s been to all those places I have. He’s been sad and angry. He knows what it feels like to want to just give up when everything hurts and you’re told that half your body is useless.”

I swallowed hard, my eyes smarting with wounded tears. This wasn’t right, I thought. *I’m* the one Josh confides in, *I’m* that guy, *not* David Strachan. I’m the one Josh shares his most intimate thoughts and fears with, I’m not just his lover I’m his helpmate.

“Gee, thanks,” I said pointedly.

“Sam.” Josh lifted his head to look at me. “Don’t be like that. You really don’t know what it was like hearing someone say yeah, they still get dreams where they’re walking or running but that eventually the pain of it fades. Or that it’s perfectly natural to have an episode like today ... to experience the emotions all over again so that they feel as real and as new as when I went through them the first time. And to get that reassurance that it does get better. Eventually.”

As I gazed back at Josh I thought of all the layers of sadness that had been placed, one by one, on his life: Joanie dying when he was just a little boy; the death of his father when Josh was hundreds of miles away on the campaign trail; nearly losing his life to an assassin and being permanently disabled as a result. Josh had survived all of this, he’d never let it interfere with the passions in his life: his remaining family, his friends and his work. And I knew that I was right up there on that list. Consequently, anyone looking inside my head at that point would have asked what sort of an asshole could be so mean spirited as to feel angry and jealous at Josh confiding in someone who could empathize so readily with his situation. And my answer would be that Josh wouldn’t expect me to make allowances for the crappy hand that life had dealt him. But deep down I knew how I felt. Yeah, I felt like an asshole. So I pushed aside the hostile thoughts, even though I was desperate to ask him about the little scene I’d witnessed in the mess that afternoon.

“You’re right, I don’t know what it’s like,” I said. “I’m ... I’m glad David was there to help.”

Josh gave me a small smile before settling back down to lie against me. “Yeah, me too.”

I began twirling one soft, auburn curl around my finger. “I saw the photo album on the table,” I said tentatively.

“I thought it was time to take a look at it,” he answered. “It was David’s idea.”

I stopped the twirling. “Oh?” Don’t say anymore, I told myself, but before I knew it the words were out of my mouth. “I’ve been trying to persuade you for months to open that album. I wanted us to look at it together, but you always refused point blank!”

“Sam, if you’d let me explain .. “

“What? That Strachan’s opinion means more to you than mine? That he can get you to do something that your partner can’t? It’s hurtful, Josh.”

“Sam, enough!” Josh turned over to face me, placed his hands on my shoulders as if to stop me from jumping out of the bed there and then. “David told me that he’d gotten permission to use some of NBC’s footage. Footage showing me before I was shot. I told him how much I dreaded seeing it and that I had a whole album full of photographs taken when I was a kid and that I didn’t have the nerve to look at them. And you know what he told me?”

I shook my head, forcing myself to keep quiet.

“He said he’d been through exactly the same thing and that for two years after his accident he avoided anything that reminded him of how he’d been a champion diver at school. Until he accidently found some photographs when he was clearing out a drawer ... he caught sight of one of them, then couldn’t stop himself from looking at the rest.” Josh looked pensive, his head on one side. “So I thought I’d take his advice.”

“And how was it?” I asked.

“Hard at first,” he said.

“Oh, Josh.” I stroked his cheek, feeling suddenly chastened.

“It’s okay,” he replied, trying to sound reassuring. 

“It’s not okay. I should have been there, not hearing about it after the event and giving you a hard time.” I pulled Josh closer, wrapping my arms around him, his head resting on my shoulder. “I just ... I just get a little crazy when I think you’re shutting me out.”

Josh sighed heavily. “I’m not, Sam. It doesn’t mean I love you any less. But David can relate … *totally* … to everything I‘m feeling because he‘s experienced it personally. You understand that, don’t you?”

“Yes, yes I do.” 

And as I said it, I was trying - *really* trying - to see it from Josh’s point of view. But as we kissed goodnight, and as we lay together so closely, and even though we’d just enjoyed such warm, passionate lovemaking ... well, despite all those things the image of David Strachan’s hand on Josh’s shoulder was the last thing I remembered before I finally fell asleep.

***  
** One month later **

“Hold still, Josh.”

“You’re nearly strangling me!”

“Well, why don’t you ask Sam to tie it for you? Better yet, learn to do it yourself.”

As I approached Josh’s office Donna swept out. When she saw me she raised her eyes heavenward and I guessed she’d gone through the usual ritual with tying Josh’s bow tie. I gave her a sympathetic grin as she sat down at her desk and began touching up her lipstick, then propped myself against the doorway to Josh’s office.

“Hi handsome,” I said.

Josh grunted, unimpressed. He hated the formal wear Bartlet stipulated for these state dinners - white tie, tailcoat - despite the fact that he was one of the few guys eminently suited to wear this attire. Hence my greeting, because he really did look wildly attractive. Or at least, he would once he’d stopped squirming and pulling at his jacket.

“When they designed these things they definitely didn’t consider someone might be sitting down the whole time. Damn it!” he yelled as he tried to shove the tails of his jacket where they wouldn’t get caught up in the wheels of his chair.

“Come here.” I entered the room, pushing the door shut behind me. “Lift your ass up.”

One raised eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t get your hopes up,” I said. “Just work with me here.”

Josh placed his hands on the chair’s wheel rims, pushing up to allow me to arrange the coat tails underneath him. 

“Better?” I asked.

“Much. Thanks.” He looked up at me, smiling slightly. I bent my head, kissed him lightly on the tip of his nose.

“I’ve changed my mind. Want to skip the dinner and stay here and make out?” I enquired. “We could lock the door, I could take off that bow tie Donna tied ever so carefully, then we can take it from there.”

“I wish,” laughed Josh. He bent his head to look at some papers on his desk, annotating some of them, signing others while I stood there waiting for him to finish.

“The visit’s gone well, hasn’t it?” I asked.

“Yeah. Leo can’t believe how smoothly the trade talks have gone. I think we’ve gotten a lot of concessions.”

“Josh.”

“Mm-hm.” he responded absently, still engrossed in his last minute paperwork.

“I want to speak to Afonso about Graham and Sarah.”

I waited for the reaction. Silence, then suddenly Josh’s head jerked up.

“What did you just say?” he asked.

“I’m going to speak to President Afonso tonight. If things have gone as well as Leo says then maybe he’ll be more receptive to listening.”

“No, no, no, no!” Josh threw his pen on the desk. “Absolutely not, Sam. You’re not going anywhere near him except to shake hands and ask how he’s enjoyed his visit to the United States.”

“But, Josh ... “ I moved towards him and found myself caught in the full glare of the legendary Lyman anger. It wasn’t personal, it had nothing to do with the fact that we’re lovers, but everything to do with the fact that in the West Wing we’re Josh Lyman Deputy Chief of Staff and Sam Seaborn Deputy Director of Communications. And although Josh rarely demonstrates it, the significant difference is that Deputy Chief of Staff is further up the chain of command than Deputy Director of Communications.

“No buts, Sam,” he snapped. “You have absolutely no authority to approach President Afonso on this matter, particularly when the White House Chief of Staff has told you to drop it until this visit is well and truly over, a decision with which I wholeheartedly concur.”

“Are you pulling rank on me?” I asked disbelievingly.

“Damn right I am,” Josh said.

“I see.” 

It was unreasonable of me to feel so wounded at Josh’s vehemence, because he was simply stating a fact. When push came to shove I was a member of the senior staff answerable to the Deputy Chief of Staff, regardless of our personal relationship. This was just the sort of conflict of interests that we’d striven to avoid. We’d given our word when we outed ourselves that this wouldn’t embarrass the administration or adversely affect our work within it. And up to that point it had worked pretty well. The expression on Josh’s face softened, and I could tell he was thinking along the same lines.

“Don’t look like that, Sam, please,” he said in a quieter voice. “This is hard enough for me as it is. I know it seems as if I’m taking a swipe at your principles, but I’ve got a job to do here.”

He shouldn’t have had to explain it like that. As a professional politician I should have sucked it up and moved on, so I tried to stop thinking about how devastated the Vogels had looked that day at the Holiday Inn as I decided to play it by the rules that existed for the game we called politics. And professional considerations over the personal be damned, because I knew that a little part of me capitulated in the face of Josh’s obvious discomfort at having to overrule me.

“Okay, you win,” I replied.

Josh let out a big sigh if relief. “You’re doing the right thing, Sam. Look, why don’t we talk about it some time soon, see if there’s something that can be done when we’ve got the trade agreements boxed off.”

“Tomorrow?” I asked eagerly.

“Nooo.” Josh drew the word out into a kind of moan of exasperation. “I’m going to Camp David, remember?”

I’d totally forgotten. He was accompanying the President on a two-day mini-summit with employer and labor groups and members of congress to iron out some of the issues prior to the first reading of the transportation bill. 

“Look, as soon as I get back, yeah?” he asked. “Hey.”

Josh stretched out his arm. I smiled slightly, my fingers curled over the edge of the desk where I rested my hands for support as I leaned against it. Josh covered one of my hands with his. 

“I’m just reminding you of the big picture, you know?” he said softly. “Sometimes we get so close to the detail that everything else gets blurred. This agreement is going to protect American jobs, but also help so many people in Brazil: the unemployed, street kids ... “

“I see that, Josh. But sometimes - just *sometimes* - why can’t we address individual need too?” I looked at him and smiled ruefully. 

“Because it’s what we do, Sam. But promise me something.”

I raised my eyebrows quizzically as Josh reached up to touch my face. “Don’t ever lose your idealism. We do what we can for the individual when we can.”

I bent down and our lips met. The kiss was long and tender. We didn’t always indulge ourselves like this when in the West Wing, but these rare moments of intimacy in the workplace were al the sweeter for that. We were neither of us given to grand, romantic gestures but loved these quiet, private moments when our emotions connected so perfectly. Finally, with a sigh, I pulled away.

“We should go,” I said.

“In a minute,” came the reply. Once more Josh’s lips locked with mine and once more I surrendered to his mouth so fondly raiding my own until with reluctance Josh ended the kiss.

“Come on.” He wheeled over to the door and I followed him out into the operations bullpen. Despite the warmth of our final few minutes in Josh’s office I was still experiencing some residual feelings of defeat and disappointment. Although I was a couple of steps behind Josh as we made our way through the building, some of this must have communicated itself to him. As we approached the vicinity of the East Room Josh stopped and turned round to face me. He gave me a sly little grin and winked.

“Wanna carry on where we left off when we get home?” he asked. I smiled back. Maybe the evening wasn’t going to be a total disaster.

***

I held the door open to the East Room for Josh to go in ahead of me. Most of the people present were White House staff along with diplomats from both the US and Brazilian governments; the room had yet to fill up with the various cabinet secretaries, senators and other invited dignitaries. I glanced around, nodding and mouthing ‘Good evening’ to some of the more familiar faces. I’d just began suggesting to Josh that we take our places at the edge of the room where we’d customarily position ourselves when his face lit up and he sped off.

“Josh!” I protested.

He stopped and turned round. “I’m just going to say hello to David and see if he needs anything.”

“David?” I asked. “What’s he doing here?”

Josh hesitated, then made his way back to where I stood. “He got permission to film tonight because he wants to use it as part of the montage they’ll use at the beginning of the documentary.”

“You didn’t tell me he was coming,” I said.

“Yes I did.”

“When?”

“Just now.”

I bit back a response, aware of how juvenile we sounded. Josh scanned the room surreptitiously. Once he was satisfied everyone was too busy to take notice of anything we might do, he grabbed my wrist, jerking it so that I was forced to bend my head to hear what he was saying.

“I didn’t tell you because this is exactly the reaction I get when I mention his name,” he whispered. Somehow the whispering seemed less discreet than if he’d simply yelled the words at me.

“I’m sorry. I was just surprised, that’s all,” I said. Josh released his hold on my wrist. “Then you’d better go, I guess, seeing as he’s here on official business.”

Of course, Josh wasn’t aware of the meaning behind my words. I’d not told him that on the previous week I’d had occasion to go up to one of the meeting rooms on the second floor of the White House and a movement had caught my eye as I passed one of the windows. I suddenly realized what I was looking at. There was Josh dressed in the sweats he kept in his office for working out in the White House gym and with him, similarly attired, was David. They were on the piece of ground near the visitors’ center where a hoop had been rigged up for the occasional basketball sessions the President enjoyed with his staff. As I stared I saw Josh toss the ball in the air, punching his fist skywards as the ball sailed cleanly through the basketball hoop. David laughed and they high fived. Was it my imagination or did their hands seem to touch a little longer than was necessary? I didn’t stop to see any more, feeling strangely voyeuristic. I’d known Josh enjoyed playing basketball when he was in the rehab facility, but he’d not given any indication of wanting to pursue the activity when he came home. Surely he knew I’d have been more than happy to join him? I felt a little shaken by the thought that he looked so happy with David, and even more so when he didn’t even mention it later that night. In fact, when I next saw him he’d changed back into the clothes he’d been wearing earlier in the day. If I hadn’t seen him outside I’d have been none the wiser. Tempted though I was to comment, I didn’t want to sound petty or give the impression that I’d been spying on Josh, so I decided not to mention it. 

But as I watched Josh go up to David in the East Room, I wished I had. Even when CJ came up to me and started laughing and chatting about who was present and who was evidently sleeping with who, all I could concentrate on was the sight of Josh smiling and looking so animated. And as the formalities progressed and Josh was caught up in the usual political schmoozing I couldn’t shake off the sick, jealous feeling that rose up in my throat. And I guess it was that horrible, destructive sensation as well as my insane belief in the strength of my own principles that finally made me do what I did that evening.

***  
The White House chef had prepared Maryland crab cakes, a chilled cucumber soup, a cajun chicken dish and a dark chocolate tart served with praline ice cream. The sommelier had selected Veuve Cliquot champagne, a Sancerre, a full-bodied Bordeaux and a sweet, honeyed dessert wine. And as I sat at my table with two senators and their wives, a Pulitzer-prize winning novelist and her latest paramour I might as well have been eating sawdust and drinking flat Dr Pepper. Granted I hardly drank any alcohol at these events - the senior staff would accept a glass of wine for appearances sake but generally stick to iced water - but I usually attacked my food with gusto. But that night I even struggled to concentrate on the conversation going on around me as I psyched myself up for the post-dinner task I'd set myself. By the time the band had switched from it's subdued repertoire that accompanied the eating and drinking to a set more conducive to an evening's entertainment I was almost dancing myself, but more from anxiety than as a response to the music. I knew I had to get my timing spot on. As soon as it was apparent that Josh leaving the room in the company of Leo and the governor of Pennsylvania coincided with President Afonso smoking a cigar on the balcony accompanied by a member of his staff I knew my one and only opportunity to act had arrived. That was the confluence of events that I’d been waiting for. I crossed the room as quickly as I could so that I could reach the President before he was waylaid by anyone else anxious to speak with him. But as most of his social contacts that evening had been carefully vetted and pre-arranged I knew that as a senior adviser to Jed Bartlet I stood a better chance than most.

“I hope you don’t mind me interrupting you, Mr President,” I said by way of introduction.

President Afonso turned to face me, leaning one elbow on the concrete balustrade of the balcony. He was a portly man of about six feet, his thinning hair offset by a neatly trimmed beard. In his immaculately tailored tuxedo he made an imposing figure, a fact that was supported by his reputation. I knew he was a skilful negotiator, a useful friend and a formidable enemy.

“Not at all, Mr … forgive me, I’ve met so many people over the last few days.” His English was impressive. Much better, I’m sorry to say, than President Bartlet’s Portuguese.

“Sam Seaborn, sir. We were introduced earlier. I’m President Bartlet’s Deputy Director of Communications.”

“Of course.” He smiled slightly, perhaps wondering where the conversation was headed.

“I hope you’re enjoying yourself, sir,” I said.

“Very much. I always find my visits to Washington enjoyable. It’s a beautiful city.”

“Mr President, I wondered if I might talk to you about something that concerns both our countries,” I said, deciding it was time to dispense with the social chit-chit.

“By all means, although I wasn’t aware I had any official business with the communications staff.” Afonso frowned slightly, looking towards his aide who looked equally nonplussed.

“I’m not speaking in an official capacity, sir. I’d like to raise the case of two US citizens who are currently in prison in Brazil.”

“Mr Seaborn, I really don’t think this is the time or the place … “ the President’s companion began.

“No, I’d like to hear what Mr Seaborn has to say,” Afonso interrupted. “Please.”

He gestured with the hand that held the cigar. The heavy, almost sweet smelling smoke drifted towards me, making my eyes sting. Managing to ignore it, I took the plunge. I told him the whole history of the case, trying to present it as factually as I could without making any value judgements on the role of the Brazilian police and judiciary. Not only did I plead the case of Graham and Sarah but also that of the tribes people who were similarly imprisoned, but as I went on I could feel myself becoming more and more impassioned. 

“What do you want from me, Mr Seaborn?” The words were spoken quietly, but the authority behind them was unmistakable.

“I’m asking you to exercise your right to review their cases, perhaps act on compassionate grounds?” I ventured hopefully.

“So you’re saying you want me to intercede not only on behalf of Brazilian nationals who’ve broken the law, but the American citizens who were the ring leaders?” 

“Mr President, I know that technically they broke the law, but it was a non-violent protest … “

“You’re asking me to interfere in the workings of the judicial process of Brazil?” He looked round for the ashtray which was balanced on the balustrade. He ground out his cigar, and then began walking towards the French windows. He turned to face me as we entered the ballroom. “You’re either very naïve or very arrogant, Mr Seaborn. I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt and put it down to naivety.”

He walked off without giving me a chance to reply, his aide glancing at me to give me a look of bored indifference. As I stood rooted to the spot I suddenly noticed Josh nearby. He was staring straight at me, his eyes narrowed ominously. I was left in no doubt that he’d obviously witnessed the little tableau that had played out seconds before. I elbowed my way through the crush of people who threatened to bar my way.

“Josh … “

“In my office as soon as this thing’s over,” he ordered. 

The look he gave me was the coldest I’d ever seen. It made me feel sick at heart.

***

“So what the hell happened in there?”

Josh’s question followed by the sound of the door being slammed fit to shake it off its hinges almost made me jump out of my skin as I stood staring out of his office window. As soon as I’d been able to make a respectable early exit from the dinner I’d gone straight there, spending the time waiting for Josh and brooding over the possible – no, probable – mess I’d made of things. And when I spun round to face him I knew just how bad the situation was. I’d never seen him look so angry. I shoved my hands into my pockets and stood there trying to form a reply.

“I … I spoke to him about Graham and Sarah and the rest of them … it … didn’t go well,” I finally managed to blurt out.

Josh pushed himself further into the room. He stopped, rubbing his fingers across his forehead. He looked tired and I was aware that in a few short hours a car would pick him up from our apartment to take him to Camp David for three days of tough negotiating. “So here we have the Presidents of the USA and Brazil on the eve of signing an historic trade agreement when one of the White House staff decides to impugn the integrity of the Brazilian judicial system.” He laid his hand flat across the lines that were now furrowing his forehead and glared at me. “Outstanding!”

“I’m sorry. Josh. Really.” What else was there to say?

“You promised me, Sam.” Josh didn’t look angry now, he just looked disappointed. Somehow that was harder to bear than the other emotions he’d revealed since seeing me in conversation with Afonso. “You stood in this room and you promised me you’d leave it alone.”

“I know,” I said, miserably. “But I saw a chance to get him on his own and at first he seemed fine …” Despite the fact this had been my prime motivation, I was squirming inside at the unpalatable truth that a contributory factor had also been my jealousy at seeing Josh with David Strachan.

Josh jerked his wheelchair round and pulled the door open. “Come on,” he said.

“Where?” My mind felt numb, I couldn’t seem to function on even the most basic of levels.

“Leo’s office, where do you think? Save your explanations for him – if we can give him a heads up there may be a way out of this mess that won’t make us appear total amateurs.”

He sped off down the corridor with me walking fast to keep up. When we got to Leo’s outer office he unceremoniously rapped on the door and opened it without waiting for permission to enter. Leo was sitting behind his desk perusing a memo. 

“This better be good guys,” he said, pulling off his glasses. “Afonso’s postponed the signing of the trade agreement ‘til tomorrow afternoon and his chief of staff isn’t saying why.”

My heart sank at the words.

“It looks like we may have a situation here,” Josh started.

“Go on.” Leo looked at us a little suspiciously. I couldn’t let Josh do all the talking, so to pre-empt him opening his mouth again I stepped forward to stand directly in front of Leo’s desk. That put me in the position of turning my back on Josh, but if truth be told it was taking me every effort I had to meet Leo’s gaze, never mind Josh’s.

“I spoke to Afonso about Graham Vogel and Sarah Jakes,” I stated as matter-of-factly as I could.

“You did what?” Leo sprang from his seat as if he’d suddenly been prodded by a very sharp spike. “You did what?” he asked again, repeating himself for good measure. I guessed it was rhetorical.

“I knew everything had gone well with the trade agreement, so I concluded it was as good a time as any to ask if there was anything he could do to intervene,” I pressed on. I’d come this far – there was no point in trying to sugar the pill.

“All the more reason not to mention your pet crusade,” said Leo. “No wonder he’s postponed the signing – we’ll be lucky if he turns up at all!”

“I know.” I looked down, shuffling my feet.

“Did you know anything about this?” He turned his gaze on Josh.

“Sam did mention he was considering it … “

“Josh told me … no, ordered me … not to do it,” I interjected.

“But you did it anyway. You deliberately ignored my instructions and then you chose to ignore those of my deputy?” Leo was leaning forward, his hands on the desk. I was glad it formed a barrier between us.

“I apologise unreservedly,” I said. I stifled a sigh at what I knew I had to say next. “You’ll have my resignation on your desk first thing in the morning.”

“Sam.” From behind me I heard Josh murmur my name. 

Leo just stared back for a couple of seconds.”Oh, no, you don’t. You don’t get out of it that easily. You’re going to stick around to try and fix this, then we’ll see if it’s a resigning matter.”

“Sir?” I asked. Behind me, I was sure I heard a slight, relieved exhalation of breath from Josh.

“I predict that at some time between 7 and 9am tomorrow I’ll receive a call from the Brazilian Embassy to attend a meeting at the Ambassador’s pleasure. You’ll attend with me and provide an explanation as to how this happened. I’m accountable for my staff, but you, Sam, are responsible for the actions you take.” He sat back down. “Be in the West Wing by seven at the latest.” 

He put his glasses on, turning his attention back to the discarded memo.

“Yes, sir,” I said.

“Leo, do you need me for anything?” asked Josh.

Once more Leo abandoned his reading. “*If* the trade agreement signing goes ahead, it’ll probably be later than planned. You’re okay to manage things at Camp David until the President arrives?

“Sure. No problem.”

Leo nodded. The look he gave Josh was one of utter confidence. Josh is his type of politician. I know Leo rates me as a valued member of the senior staff – if he hadn’t, I would never have found myself there. But I have no illusions that the reason I’d even gotten onto the campaign team was because of Josh’s recommendation. Although I’ve proved myself worthy of that recommendation, there were times when I was aware of the difference in the way Leo regards Josh and me. The events of that evening were surely a case in point.

“Go get some sleep, Josh. You’ve got a busy time ahead of you.”

We said our goodnights, although I doubt if Leo heard since he was busy scribbling notes as he resumed his examination of the paper in front of him. I pulled the door open to let Josh exit first and followed him down the corridor. The late night atmosphere in the West Wing was quiet. Normally I’d find this an almost restful quality, but tonight it felt oppressive as we proceeded in silence in the direction of Josh’s office.

“I’ll pick up my stuff then we can leave,” he said.

“Do you want me to drive?” I asked. His day had started early with a pre-Camp David briefing with the President. “You look exhausted.” 

“Thanks. That’ll be good,” he responded.

I turned away and trudged dispiritedly to my own office.

***

The silence between us continued on the journey back to Georgetown. Josh sat checking his voicemail on his cell as I drove us through the dark streets wishing I could turn the clock back to that moment before we’d entered the East Room. I berated myself for my insane, adolescent jealousy and the ill-conceived plan that had resulted in unleashing the fury of both Leo and Josh. Leo’s I could handle – just – as it was purely professional, but being on the receiving end of Josh’s anger was far more complicated. As I chewed it over in my mind I realized what the most disturbing aspect of the whole sorry business was: the fact that my perceived betrayal had bled through from the professional arena into the personal. Once again I was aware that despite our noble intention to keep our relationship separate from the work area, this was proving far more difficult to achieve than either of us had thought.

“You want a hot drink or anything?” I asked Josh as I turned the key in the lock.

“Just bring me some water through, thanks.” Josh disappeared straight into the bedroom. I watched until he was out of sight, wondering how I could make things right between us. And even if I managed that, there was the small matter of placating an angry Brazilian ambassador the next day. I leaned back against the wall, more heavily than was necessary, the hard surface jarring painfully against my shoulder blades. As a displacement activity it did little to distract me, and since I couldn’t delay going to bed for much longer, I reluctantly pushed myself into an upright position, grabbed a couple of bottles of water from the kitchen and made my way to face Josh.

“You know, you were damn lucky he didn’t accept your resignation there and then,” he said from his position on the bed. He pulled off his jacket and I heard the snap of material as he unfastened his bow tie.

“You thought I was bluffing?” I demanded.

He shook his head wearily. “No, of course not. I just want you to know how serious this is. I mean, you walk up to the man at a dinner that’s been given in his honor and demand that he review a case that’s already been tried by his country’s judiciary. How do you think we’d feel if someone did that to President Bartlet?”

I didn’t reply until I’d hung up my suit and shoved my dress shirt into the laundry basket. I didn’t intend to start yelling like I was totally at the mercy of my passion for this issue. I turned to face Josh who was sitting, still almost fully dressed, his hands braced against the bed as he stretched his spine to combat some of the stiffness in his back.

“I didn’t demand anything,” I said with as much control as I could muster. “I simply explained the background to him and asked – respectfully – if he would consider using his right of review. I at no time suggested there was any defect in the Brazilian judicial system or the legal defence that was mounted. I even managed to refrain from pointing out the ethical and moral bankruptcy of a government that will knowingly dispossess its indigenous people of their land.”

“Well, that’s good because I have the feeling he might have reminded you of some of the history of our own government on that score,” Josh remarked acidly. He looked down for a second, shaking his head and laughing slightly to himself. “My God, Sam, what were you even thinking of? Or weren’t you thinking at all?”

I flinched at the words, when all of a sudden Josh tilted his head to one side and smiled. He gave me a sideways glance, the meaning of which was unmistakeable. Without uttering a word I moved across the room to sit by Josh’s side, that heavenly place on the side of his neck yielding softly to the touch of my lips. I pushed the collar of his shirt aside, then slipped my hand inside the crisp cotton, running the flat of my hand down from his collarbone to his chest.

“Let’s forget about it for now, Josh. I’m not gonna see you for three days. I want to undress you ... want to love you ... slowly ... ” I moaned as I made contact with his nipple. I waited for his reaction: the slight arching of his back as he leaned into the sensation of my thumb caressing that sensitive area; the way I knew he’d lean his body into mine. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” The unexpected words spoken in a flat, interrogative tone made me stop with the kissing. My hand remained where it was even though I detected an almost imperceptible movement of Josh pulling away from me.

“I’m sorry ... I thought ... “ 

“What? You thought we were going to have make up sex?” asked Josh. He moved again. This time a gap opened up between us, my hand sliding from where it rested against Josh’s chest. “This isn’t a fight about whose turn it was to load the dishwasher or why I turned up late for the dinner you’d cooked. This is about *work*. It’s about our responsibilities to the administration!”

I knew then that I’d totally misread the signs. What I’d thought was a smile designed to give me the come on was actually a smile of disbelief at my inept handling of Afonso. I jumped up from the bed.

“Well maybe if we’d spent a little more time discussing it tonight, except you were so keen to get along to the East Room to keep your assignation with David Strachan.” I shot the words back at Josh before striding into the bathroom and slamming the door behind me.

“Sam!” Josh’s voice had lost some of its anger. I may have been mistaken but he actually sounded a little contrite. “It wasn’t like that!”

I ignored him and locked the door to stop him coming in, but there was silence from the bedroom as I peed and brushed my teeth. When I went back in Josh was zipping up the bag he’d packed earlier.

“You want me to take your stuff into the hallway?” I asked.

“Yes, please,” Josh said in a small voice without looking at me.

When I returned he’d disappeared into the bathroom. I climbed into bed and turned on my side so that my back was to Josh when he slid in next to me. He turned out the light on his side of the bed and I felt him lean over towards me, his breath warm against my shoulder.

“I don’t want to go to Camp David with us still angry with one another, Sam,” he said. “Why don’t we put it to one side and talk it all through when I get back? There’s nothing that can’t be put right.”

There was silence as he waited for my response. “Okay,” I breathed reluctantly. But I didn’t really mean it. I was still mad at him about his ordering me not to speak to Afonso and the fact he’d been right about how crazy it had been. I was feeling hurt and confused by his rejection of my attempt at lovemaking. And above all else I was totally wound up over his friendship with Strachan. There was also the difference in the way Josh and I exhibited anger. Josh was quick to fire up, it burned brightly, even incandescently, but he was just as quick to cool down. My anger, on the other hand, was more slow burning but once ignited I found it harder to let go of.

“ ’Night, Sam.” I’d buried my head in the pillow so the kiss he attempted landed somewhat awkwardly against my ear. I grunted in response and for the rest of the night I pretended I was sleeping soundly without a care in the world.

***

The next morning the couple of hour’s sleep I’d managed to achieve was interrupted by the shrill beeping of Josh’s alarm clock. I waited until he’d showered and dressed before I got out of bed, by which time Josh had taken himself off to the kitchen for his first caffeine fix of the day. I was half dressed when the doorbell sounded and I heard Josh open the door of the apartment.

“There’s this bag and a couple of suits,” I heard him tell the driver who would take him to Camp David. We hadn’t yet spoken to one another. I wondered if Josh would come through to the bedroom to say goodbye.

“I’ll see you Thursday.” I looked up from choosing my tie to see Josh come into the room. He looked a little tense.

“Hope it goes well,” I said.

He pushed himself over towards me. “Don’t I even get a kiss?” he asked. Usually it took a crowbar to prise us apart us if we were going to be parted for even just a day or two. That day we were acting like strangers. I bent my head to let Josh kiss me on the cheek, but I kept my eyes on the tie I held in my hand.

“You should wear the maroon one with that suit,” Josh remarked lightly for the want of anything else to say, then he was gone. I listened to him leave the apartment and walked over to the window. It was a new driver and he hadn’t parked the car as close to the sidewalk as was needed to make it easy for Josh to get into the vehicle. As a consequence his wheelchair tipped slightly as he slid into his seat and my heart jumped into my mouth a little as I imagined Josh falling half in and half out of the car. As it happened he was fine, but at that moment I wished I’d said goodbye properly, that I’d accompanied him to the car. I watched as the car disappeared round the corner then I turned back into the room to finish dressing. With a strange little feeling of unease I discarded my choice of tie and wore the maroon one Josh had suggested. I tried telling myself it made me feel a little better.

***  
I arrived at the West Wing at six forty-five, not wanting to play fast and loose with Leo’s strictures. Managing to avoid any meaningful human contact I hid in my office until my phone rang at 7:05 precisely. 

“Sam?” 

“Hi, Margaret.”

“Leo would like to see you in his office now.”

As I left my office Toby walked into the communications bullpen. He gave me a dark look and pulled me to one side.

“I’ve spoken to Leo. What … ?“

“Toby, please don’t ask me what the hell I was thinking of,” I said, cutting him off in mid explosion. “I’ve had enough of that to last a lifetime from Leo and Josh.”

“Sam, I understand why you did it.” I nodded, realizing I shouldn’t have been surprised by Toby’s own innate idealism giving him a degree of empathy with my plight. “Just … just be careful, okay? And don’t forget, your not Graham Vogel’s defense attorney. You work for the President.”

“Toby, I need to go. Leo wants to see me.” I made to walk away.

“Sam.”

I turned back momentarily.

“We can’t afford to lose you.”

I gave him a sickly smile, grateful for the unaccustomed praise, then resumed my progress towards Leo’s office.

***

As predicted by Leo, the Brazilian Ambassador had telephoned at 7am sharp. The call had been brief, a terse request for Leo to attend the Embassy at nine. Leo delivered this information to me and for the next fifteen minutes we discussed how we would play the meeting with the ambassador.

“Basically Sam I want you to eat enough humble pie that you’ll be drinking Pepto-Bismol for a week,” was his parting shot. By the time we were sitting side by side in his town car on the way to the embassy he was still delivering the same message, albeit with a further variety of equally colorful metaphors. That is, until he tired of that and began describing how the Brazilian ambassador was a woman who scared the living daylights out of most men. By the time we pulled up outside the elegant white façade of the ambassador’s residence I was convinced I wasn’t going to get out of there with certain parts of my anatomy intact. But we stuck to our game plan: Leo smoothed the diplomatic feathers with an assurance that the administration in no way endorsed my intervention; I apologized for my inappropriate conversation and any unintended slur on the Brazilian legal system; finally Leo reiterated the administration’s commitment to the historic agreement to be signed that morning. In other words, as Leo would put it, get in, say what you’ve got to say then get the hell out of there before the ambassador could change her mind about deeming the whole matter closed.

“The President wants to see you as soon as we get back,” Leo said brusquely as we settled back into the car. His attitude softened a little as he noticed me wince at the prospect. “You did okay, kid.”

“About my resignation … “ I was almost afraid to remind him of my offer the previous evening.

“Well, let’s hear what the President’s got to say, but I think that’s off the table this time,” he replied.

“Thanks, Leo.” I heaved a sigh of relief and spent the rest of the journey back to the White House staring out of the window, contemplating how things might have gone very differently. Leo had actually been more supportive than I’d imagined he would be in our meeting with the ambassador, and I was grateful for that. I hoped my conversation with President Bartlet would end on a positive note, but was dreading it nonetheless.

“You do know how disastrous this could have been for US-Brazilian relations?” he began as soon as I stood facing him across that famous desk in the Oval Office.

“Yes, sir, and I can only apologize unreservedly for any embarrassment I may have caused to you personally, the administration and the country as a whole.” Inwardly I congratulated myself for having got to the end of the sentence without my voice giving out. As it was I felt a touch breathless and was sure I could detect a slight quaver as I spoke.

“Hm.” The President sat back in his imposing leather chair and contemplated me for a few seconds. The next time he spoke there was a note of exasperation in his voice. “Oh, don’t look so worried. I’m not going to fire you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Although I don’t mind telling you that I wanted to when Leo told me what you’d done,” he continued. “At the very least I wanted to read you the riot act, but I guess it would just have been more of the same after Leo and Josh had chewed you up and spat you out.”

“Yes, Mr President.” The conversation was becoming conspicuously one sided, I concluded.

He stood up. I could give the President several inches in terms of height, but at that moment I felt as if I’d shrunk and that he was towering over me. “Let’s put it down to experience this time, Sam. Learn from it. You’ve got a great future ahead of you. Don‘t make any more mistakes like last night‘s and who knows what you’ll achieve eventually.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“And listen to Josh. I wouldn’t be sitting in this room if it wasn’t for Leo. There’s a lot to be said for having such wise counsel.” At last his face relaxed into a smile. “Now, I’m sure you’ve got some speeches to write and I need to go sign a trade agreement.”

“Thank you, Mr President..” I walked over to the door. “I hope everything goes well at Camp David.”

He nodded, and I took my leave.

***

Toby didn’t utter a word about my activities that morning, short of letting me know how much work I had to catch up on. I set to immediately, turning my attention to a briefing on health care the President needed when he returned from Camp David. At noon I heard Toby and some of the other staff leaving to attend the trade signing, which was to take place in the Rose Garden. I’d already decided not to attend - I guessed I’d be an unwelcome sight to President Afonso and his entourage - but the fact that Toby didn’t poke his head round my door to give me a heads up was indication enough for me that I wasn’t the only one who had come to that conclusion. So I carried on writing, using my favorite fountain pen on a yellow legal pad, a process I always found strangely comforting prior to committing my first draft to my laptop. 

The sudden clatter of the blades of Marine One as it took off from the White House lawn reminded me of the President’s destination, and conjured up a picture of Josh. I thought of him being responsible for opening the Camp David proceedings in the President’s absence, thinking about the knowledge and expertise he possessed that President Bartlet would rely on. It gave me a sudden twinge of pride, and reminded me of just how much I loved and admired Josh. But at the same time I wished I hadn’t nursed my anger, hugging it to me as I lay in bed and letting it affect the way we’d parted that morning. In the cold light of day my suspicions about Josh and David showed up for the chimera they no doubt were. Otherwise, would Josh have been so loving towards me prior to our going to the East Room? Would he have attempted to make peace with me when we lay in bed? And despite my residual feelings of mortification about my debacle with Afonso, they were nothing compared to the guilt that was growing within me over the way I’d treat Josh.

***

As the day went on I began to wish I could speak to him, let him know how bad I felt about the way I’d behaved, but I knew that would be impossible. Mid-afternoon, and Josh would either be involved in round table talks with all the parties involved or else leading some break out group to try to come to an agreement on a way forward. So I pushed on with my work, pausing only to eat a limp salad and drink a cup of too strong coffee until my visual senses started telling me that I needed to switch on a light. 

Nine o’clock. The sky was darkening fast. I decided I’d had enough. The fact that the President wasn’t in residence was enough to ensure a relatively quiet time, so I checked my e-mails for the last time that day, made a cursory effort of tidying the papers on my desk then shut down my laptop. As I twisted round to pick up the file I’d deposited on the floor next to my chair, I felt my cell phone pressed against my waist where it was clipped to my belt. Instinctively my fingers moved towards it, the thought of speaking to Josh becoming almost a matter of urgency. I was just about to hit the speed dial when I realized that yet again I was acting on impulse. Reflecting grimly where that had gotten me the night before, I clipped my cell back on my belt then looked at my laptop. I debated taking it with me and got as far as picking it up when I decided I’d give myself a break. I had some serious thinking to do before I attempted to ring Josh. The way we’d left things that morning I felt as if I was handling something that was fragile and easily damaged and I didn’t intend to do anything that might prove irreparable. With a feeling of resolution I placed the laptop back on my desk, although I did make a slight concession to the size of my workload by picking up the latest report on spending in the military. I deduced that if I couldn’t sleep, using that as a little light bedtime reading would be better than sleeping tablets. 

Toby was sitting back in his chair staring at the ceiling when I tapped lightly on his open door. I wasn’t deceived by that particular posture. I knew he did some of his most serious thinking whilst studying the not-so-pristine overhead décor. 

“I’m taking an early finish,” I said when he shifted his gaze downwards. “I’ve e-mailed you the speech for the American Medical Association and I’m halfway through that opposition paper on environmental tax breaks.”

“Okay.” He put his head to one side. “You’ve recovered from your visit to the Brazilian Embassy?”

I sighed. Heavily. “Thanks, I’d managed to avoid thinking about that for the last ten minutes.”

“Get used to it. The next time I think you’re going to screw up I’ll remind you of your conversation with Her Excellency Senora Corta-Real.” He grinned, a touch sadistically I thought.

“Goodnight, Toby,” I said firmly, turning on my heel.

His voice sailed after me. “I want that opposition paper tomorrow.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered.

By the time I got home I was still unsettled by Toby’s unwelcome jibe about my visit to the ambassador. I stood in the middle of the living room trying to decide between ringing Josh, fixing something to eat or taking a hot shower. The hot shower won out – I figured it might relax me and it’s one of the places where I do some of my best thinking. I dumped my briefcase in the corner and headed for the bathroom where I turned the water on as hot as I could bear it, standing under the needle sharp spray as I began analyzing how best to approach my conversation with Josh.

Start off by apologizing?

No, because that’s all about me salving my conscience.

Okay, ask him how his day’s gone.

Better, then it gives me a chance to tell him I fixed things with the ambassador.

No, wait, he’ll already know that because the President was running late because of signing the trade agreement.

What about if I let him know I’d seen the error of my ways and that the President had told me I should take notice of Josh in future? Yeah, he’ll like that. It’ll make him more receptive to the next bit.

That’s when I’ll tell him how sorry I am. If I’m lucky he’ll find it in his heart to forgive me and the discussion might become a little more … well, intimate. 

And if he doesn’t forgive me? 

And that’s the point where I picked up the shampoo and scrubbed my head until it hurt because I couldn’t get past that thought. As I rinsed the soapy substance from my hair I put my face up to the water, my eyes squeezed shut. If Josh was still angry or if it had cooled into an intractable resentment, that was something I doubted could be dealt with in a phone call. I needed to see his face, read his body language, gauge his reactions. I shut off the shower and grabbed a towel, drying my body so roughly that by the end of it my nerve ends were tingling. Pulling on some of my oldest, most comfortable sweats I told myself not to assume the worst, trying to convince myself that things would work out … no, they had to work out.

Despite the fact that it was now after ten, I decided to delay phoning Josh until there was more chance that he’d be able to take my call. Experience of these events at Camp David told me that the work would probably continue after dinner. Failing that, the assembled company would at least be subjected to the President’s vast store of trivia regarding the presidential retreat. Striving to maintain the positive thoughts I’d cultivated in the bathroom, I floated the idea that there was even an outside chance that Josh would call me, but instead of sitting in pathetic expectation by the phone, I gave in to my hunger pangs and vacated the living room for the kitchen. 

Swinging the refrigerator door open I reflected I should have gone shopping, but I managed to find the remains of a piece of good Brie that I’d bought a couple of days previously. Some crackers, a few grapes and a glass of Merlot and I figured I’d be set. I got myself comfortable on the couch. With my plate on my knee, the bottle of wine within easy reach and my feet propped up on the coffee table I settled down to an hour or so’s channel hopping. By the time I’d rejected an old episode of Law and Order, a sitcom, a couple of films I’d already seen and finally concentrated my attention on a documentary about nanotechnology, I was growing thoroughly restless. I poured myself a second glass of wine and leaned over to the phone where it sat on a side table at one end of the couch. As I went to pick it up I noticed the answer phone indicator flashing like an angry red eye. One message, the automated voice told me. I smiled to myself. Maybe Josh had called earlier thinking I’d have left work at a more civilized hour. Or maybe he thought I’d been fired, I thought drily. I pressed the button to access the message.

“Hi, Josh.”

The sound of David Strachan’s voice floated down the line. I felt my whole body tense as I sat bolt upright from my slumped position on the couch.

“Thought I might catch you, but you must be at Camp David in your very important meeting.”

He said the words ‘very important meeting’ as if they were capitalized. I couldn’t decide whether this signified he was impressed or merely cynical.

“Just to let you know I’ve booked a room at the Times Square Hilton. See you on the twentieth – I’m looking forward to it.”

And that’s where the message ended and the point at which my world fell apart.

The Times Square Hilton – Josh hadn’t mentioned he was going to New York. There was nothing on the President’s schedule regarding New York. In fact, I knew there was nothing on anybody’s work programme that involved New York. I kept playing the words over in my head.

“I’ve booked a room at the Times Square Hilton.”

“I’m looking forward to it”

Looking forward to what? A rendezvous in Manhattan? Sharing a room? Sharing a bed?

Everything I’d seen and heard over the last few weeks began unfolding, literally almost before my eyes: Josh smiling at Strachan; the two of them eating dinner in our apartment, laughing and joking; Strachan’s hand on Josh’s shoulder as they sat in the mess, on and on as the relentless tableau led me to the only logical conclusion.

Josh was having an affair.

And that was it. I finally admitted it. Christ, I’d been an idiot. All the times I’d denied it, interspersed with those moments when I’d almost blurted out the question ‘What’s going on, Josh?’ But I didn’t. I’d been … what? Deluded? Afraid? Too busy convincing myself that if I ignored it, it would all go away?

I looked down and realized I was still clutching the phone. I played the message back again and again, listening for every nuance, the tone of Strachan’s voice, before slamming the receiver down. I picked up my glass, gulped down the contents and poured more wine. I paced the room, I muttered to myself, I continued drinking. I think I may have gone a little crazy. Throwing myself back down on the couch I felt tormented.

“Nnn-hhh!” I made a sound mid-way between a groan and a growl as I sat, my hands clutching my head. I thought about Josh and David Strachan, imagined them meeting up in New York, maybe in the bar in the Hilton, then making their way upstairs … I couldn’t stand it any longer. I had to speak to Josh, hear what he had to say, so once again I found myself hanging onto the phone in desperation. I hit speed dial and waited impatiently while it connected with Josh’s cell. I rubbed my eyes as I heard the ringing at the other end of the line.

“Hi, you’ve reached Josh Lyman’s voice mail. I can’t speak to you right now, but if you leave your name and number after the tone I’ll get back to you.”

I looked at my watch in disbelief. Thirty minutes past midnight. Josh was probably asleep, his cell phone switched off. Maybe because my emotions totally got the better of me, robbing me of all capacity for logical, reasoned thought, or maybe because I was jazzed from the alcohol, but without thinking about it I began speaking as soon as the beep told me I could start.

“I know there’s something going on with you and Strachan, Josh. I don‘t know if it‘s just a fling or whether you‘re in love with him. Whatever … “ I stopped, a sob choking my voice back into my throat. “ … whatever it is, I can’t be with you Josh. I don’t care if you say it doesn’t mean anything, we’re finished.”

The tears got the better of me. I disconnected and for the next few minutes I indulged myself in some wild, alcohol-fuelled weeping. My head started to throb and I felt slightly nauseous, but I couldn’t bring myself to get up and go to bed. Lying on the sheets and pillows that had last been tangled around Josh and me … no, I couldn’t do it. So I stretched out on the couch, feeling the ache of newly born loss suffuse my body and soul as once more the tears trickled down my face.

***

The next thing I knew the phone was ringing and I was lying on the couch with a stiff neck caused by the awkward position in which I’d finally fallen asleep. Everything was a little hazy as I tried to figure out why I was lolling there in this half drunk, what-the-hell-am-I-doing-here? state. I jerked upwards as the thought suddenly hit me that maybe it was Josh trying to call. I winced, a combination of my hangover and the remembrance of what had precipitated my consuming almost a full bottle of wine. I groaned at the sick feeling that rose from the pit of my stomach as I groped for the phone.

“Sam Seaborn,” I managed to croak.

“This is the White House duty officer.”

Suddenly I was wide awake. 

“Password?” I asked, the question a prerequisite to confirming the call was genuine.

He gave the correct response before going on.

“A fire has broken out at Camp David … “

I didn’t allow the person at the other end to go any further. “My God.” All I could think about was Josh once again caught in a burning building, except this time he wasn’t six years old and he wouldn’t be able to run out. I steeled myself to ask the crucial question. “Is anyone hurt?”

“We’ve had word that they’ve evacuated the building and there are no reports of casualties, but Mr McGarry wants all senior staff to present themselves in the West Wing as soon as possible.”

I began to shake as relief mixed with an adrenalin rush shot through me. “I’m on my way.”

I knew I wasn’t fit to drive so I called a cab. In the meantime I bounded into the bathroom, threw cold water on my face then pulled on the first items of clothing that came to hand: jeans and a casual shirt. No-one would be expecting business dress at a time like this. 

A couple of Advil and a cab drive later my hangover had retreated to a slight ache between my eyes, all memories of the previous evening effectively wiped from my memory banks for the time being. It was three twenty-five when I rushed through the lobby, pausing only to swipe my security pass and scribble my name in the book watched over by the security guard. The West Wing was a scene of controlled chaos with staff manning the phones and putting whatever contingency plan we had into action; TVs beamed out the various news sources that had already started to broadcast the meagre information they’d been able to gather. I tore into the communications’ bullpen where I saw Toby deep in conversation with Leo. As soon as they saw me they went quiet. 

“What?” I said. “What’s happening?” Something in the way they were looking at me made me uneasy.

“Sam, can you come into my office?” Toby said softly. Leo moved a step closer.

“No, let’s talk here,” I said, my mind irrationally communicating the message that whatever they had to tell me couldn’t be as bad if they told me in public. Once I stepped into Toby’s office everything was going to be oh, so wrong.

“Sam,” Leo said, placing his hand on my elbow so that I faced the direction of Toby’s office. I let myself be steered towards the doorway because you didn’t argue with Leo McGarry. Simply saying your name the way he had mine was enough.

Toby lit the harsh overhead strip lighting, imbuing everything with an air of unreality as we stood in the room. Leo shut the door.

“Sam, Josh was trapped inside when the fire started,” he began without preamble. I didn’t speak, I think I just made a strange little moan. I pressed my clenched hand against my mouth to stifle the sound.

Leo continued, adopting a flat, matter of fact tone in order to keep me calm I guessed. “They got him out as soon as they could, but he was overcome by the smoke.”

“Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God,” I heard myself saying over and over again. I started to sway and felt somebody put an arm around me. I turned my head and saw CJ looking at me with such compassion. I hadn’t heard her come into the room mainly because the only things I had heard were the sound of Leo’s voice and the stark words he’d spoken.

“It’s going to be okay, Sam,” I heard her say.

“He was unconscious. They’re flying him into GW by medivac.” He paused for a second. “Sam, I think you should sit down.”

“I’m all right,” I replied. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to stay grounded, maintain some semblance of calm. I’d be no good to Josh if I fell apart. “What’s his condition?”

“They stabilised him at the scene, but they’re concerned about his breathing, what with his medical history. I … “ Leo stopped speaking as Josh’s name suddenly sounded from the TV.

“ … We’re waiting for official confirmation that Josh Lyman is in fact the sole casualty of the fire. In the meantime I’ll hand you back to Max in the studio.”

“What the hell … “ Leo started. “His mother hasn’t even been informed yet!”

CJ detached herself from where she’d been clinging to me. “Sorry, Sam – gotta go.” As she shot out the room the last thing I heard was her yelling, “Find out who leaked that to the TV. I want their head on a platter on my desk asap. And get me the station manager of the TV company on the phone now!”

“Was he … is he burnt?” I managed to ask.

“No, the problem is smoke inhalation,” Leo said. He sounded as if he wanted to reassure me, but we both knew how bad the consequences of breathing in smoke could be, especially for Josh.

“I need to go to the hospital,” I said.

“There’s a car waiting outside,” Leo confirmed. “I’ve asked Donna to come with us. You‘ll hold the fort here, Toby?”

Toby nodded, giving my arm a brief squeeze. “They got him out, Sam. He’s alive. Hold onto that fact.”

I nodded my head, dimly aware that Donna had stepped into the room.  
I knew Leo had co-opted her to baby-sit me in the event of me collapsing in an emotional heap, but I was too worried about Josh to demur. All I could think about was Josh unable to get out of Camp David, frightened, struggling for breath, and all while I was at home getting drunk and obsessing over an affair that I couldn’t be sure was anything more than a figment of my imagination.

“Come on, Sam, let’s go.” Donna’s anxious voice shook me out of my thoughts as she slid her arm through mine to escort me out of Toby’s office. A few people called out their good wishes for Josh’s recovery and before I knew it we were out of the building and in Leo’s comfortable car. It seemed an eternity since I’d sat there with him only the day before, when all that preoccupied me was our meeting with Senora Corta-Real. This time I was huddled in between Donna and Leo, miserably wondering as we sped out of the White House gates what the situation would be at the hospital. I was vaguely aware of the sound of sirens, then realized that despite the deserted streets we were being escorted by a couple of police outriders. It reminded me of the first time Josh and I had traveled in the presidential motorcade and we were so knocked out by it we could have been mistaken for those guys out of Wayne’s World. 

“How did it happen?” I asked abruptly.

“We don’t know,” replied Leo. “We’re having to look at everything from perfectly innocent causes through to arson and possible terrorist attack.”

“I didn’t mean the fire. I meant how did Josh happen to end up trapped? How come Mike didn’t make sure he could get out?” I demanded, referring to the second assistant Josh had recruited when he returned to work after the shooting. Part of Mike’s remit was to give Josh any specialist help he needed to make the physical logistics of his job more manageable. 

“Again, we don’t know.” Leo sighed. I turned to look at him, saw his face pale and drawn against the window as the sky showed the first signs of pre-dawn light. “What I do know is he’s the guy that pulled Josh out and he must have had good reason not to realize he hadn’t been evacuated with everyone else.”

We lapsed into silence, and it was at that point I remembered who it was I actually worked for. “The President’s okay?” I asked.

“He’s fine. Kicking up a fuss at being taken to the hospital, but he’ll get over it,” Leo said, sounding more like his old self.

“Has the First Lady been told?” Donna asked softly. Dr Bartlet was currently in Canada, attending a medical conference.

“She’s leaving Vancouver in an hour or so.”

I just sat and listened as Leo and Donna batted snippets of information back and forth, impatient for our arrival at GW. They drove us right up to the emergency room entrance, where we had to run the gauntlet of the media representatives who’d been shepherded behind a police line. Leo said a couple of ‘No comments’ and ‘CJ Cregg will be conducting a briefing in a few minutes’, but that didn’t placate them and the shouts continued as we pushed through the double doors. Leo walked over to one of the Secret Service agents who’d arrived to secure the area and a hurried conversation commenced.

“They’ll be here in a few minutes,” he told Donna and me as he stood next to us. “They’re both in the helicopter.”

As we hung around waiting, the sight of the ER was a horrible reminder of the night of the shooting. Like that occasion the place had been cleared of patients. Unlike that night, apart from the medical staff moving and talking with controlled urgency and the comments from the agents, the facility was weirdly hushed. Until, that is, the phone rang on the reception counter and the nurse answering it announced “They’re here.” A couple of minutes later the elevator doors opened. Reflexively I moved towards them, but was stopped by Leo placing a restraining hand on my arm. We heard the President’s voice before we saw him.

“I’m perfectly capable of walking!”

Then Ron Butterfield’s quieter voice. “It’s just a precaution while we get you checked out, sir.”

“Leo!” the President yelled over as he emerged into the corridor. “Tell them, will you? I’m fine but Josh Lyman needs all the help he can get.”

As the President was whisked away with Leo at his side the other elevator doors opened and a gurney appeared accompanied by a guy in a paramedic’s uniform and a couple of hospital personnel dressed in scrubs. I pushed past Donna. All I could hear were the shouts of the medical staff as I struggled to get near to Josh.

“I got a forty year old male … smoke inhalation … he was unconscious when they pulled him out of the building.”

“What are his vitals?”

“We’ve got him on oxygen but his sats are falling … blood pressure’s 150/80.”

“Okay, let’s intubate and get him on a vent.”

Finally, finally, I managed to insert myself between the paramedic and one of the doctors.

“Josh … oh, God, Josh.” I looked down at his comatose figure. I could see his chest heaving as he labored to breathe. I made a grab for his hand,  
squeezed it desperately, willing Josh to open his eyes. “I’m here, Josh, I’m here.”

Where had I heard those words before? But this time, Josh wasn’t even conscious, didn’t even know I was there.

“Stay with me, Josh.” 

“Can someone get this guy out of here?” 

“Please, let me stay with him.”

“We need to get him into trauma now.”

“Sir, if you come this way … “

Somebody’s hands were pulling at me as the raised voices swirled around me.

“Please, Sam, let them do their job!”

I watched in dismay as the gurney disappeared between the swinging doors leading to the trauma room. It was happening all over again. It was like some horrendous recurring nightmare.

“Come on, Sam, let’s go find somewhere to sit. I’ll get you a cup of coffee.”

I turned round to see Donna looking at me with something like fear on her face, probably in response not only to Josh’s condition but to my own reaction. In the space of a few minutes I’d managed to prove how correct Leo’s decision to have Donna there to watch over me had been. There was nothing else to do but let her take my hand to pull me towards the very same room where just over a year ago we’d sat all those hours waiting for Josh to come out of surgery. She sat me down, told me sternly to ‘Stay there and don’t move’, before she left the room, returning a few minutes later with two cups of coffee. I sipped the scalding hot liquid, hardly tasting it or registering the way it burned my tongue. Donna sat in the seat next to me, drinking her coffee and from time to time discreetly checking her watch. After a little while, Leo came in, waving us back into our seats as we both sprang up at his arrival. He pulled up a chair and began to speak.

“They’ve taken Josh up to the cardio-thoracic ICU. He’s stable, they’ve put him on a ventilator purely as a precaution just to help his breathing a little. There’s already scarring to his lung from when it collapsed after the shooting, so they want to avoid making it any worse.” He gave a small smile. “He’s gonna be okay.”

I closed my eyes and leaned back, felt Donna take the now empty cup from my fingers. There was no way to describe the feeling of relief that I was experiencing. 

“Can I see him?” I whispered. I heard Donna sniff, was aware of her rooting around in her purse for a tissue.

“Sure.” He looked at me, almost apologetically. “I’ve already been up there. He’s still unconscious, but that’s mainly because they’ve sedated him to lessen the trauma of being ventilated. Once he wakes up they’ll decide if they can let him breathe on his own.”

I stood up on shaky legs. Leo and Donna stood one on either side of me as we rode up in the elevator, Leo giving us an update on the President, who was proving to be better in health than temper. He was expected to receive the all clear in a little while, in which case he’d be back at the White House within a couple of hours.

“And I’ve spoken to Mike. The fire seems to have started on the ground floor near to where Josh’s bedroom was. As soon as he heard the smoke detectors go off Mike went straight down to check on Josh but he wasn’t in his room. He assumed he’d managed to get out of the building, but when he went outside he wasn’t there.” The elevator stopped at our floor as Leo continued to speak while we alighted. “Mike went back in and found Josh on the floor a few yards away from his room … “

“What?” I was hurrying on slightly ahead of Leo and Donna, causing them to collide with me when I stopped dead as the shock of what he’d just said hit me. “He was on the floor?”

“Mike managed to get him over his shoulder. It’s lucky he was a medic in the military,” Leo told us.

“I need to see Mike. Where is he?” I demanded.

“Leave it, Sam. “Leo’s voice indicated he’d brook no argument. “He’s here in the hospital - he burnt his hands when he was looking for Josh.” 

“I don’t believe this,” I said. It was a total puzzle – a puzzle that could have resulted in a fatality. By this time I was almost shouting in anger and disbelief. “What the hell happened back there? Why didn‘t Josh just get into his wheelchair and either wait for Mike or make his way outside?”

Leo shook his head. He looked as mystified as I did. “All the staff will be back at the White House by morning. I’ll be launching a full enquiry then. Don’t worry, Sam, we’ll get to the bottom of it.”

“I want to see him,” I replied, unnecessarily. I saw a look pass between Leo and Donna, a look that said ‘Don‘t point out he‘s the one who stopped to conduct an interrogation in the middle of the hospital.’ By that time I was half running along the corridor. At last I could see the sign indicating the ICU entrance. I pushed the call button impatiently. “Come on, come on,” I said as I peered through the window pane. A nurse in scrubs was hurrying towards us.

“Josh Lyman,” I said, pushing my way in. Leo and Donna hung back, unsure whether or not to follow.

“No more than two people at his bedside,” the nurse replied. “Are you family?”

“Yes. I’m Josh’s partner.”

“Sam, you go in,” Leo said. “I need to get back to the White House. Donna will stay in case you need her.”

“I can show you to the relatives’ room,” the nurse said to Donna, evidently sensing that she wouldn’t be accompanying me to Josh’s bedside.

“Please, can you let me see Josh,” I interrupted, a little too loudly.

“There are several critically ill patients here, I’d appreciate you keeping your voice down,” the nurse snapped. I looked over her shoulder and all at once remembered the open plan nature of the unit, the patients lying there surrounded by technology. “We have Mr Lyman in a side room.”

I remembered from his previous stay in ICU that the secret service had insisted on Josh being cared for in a more private environment. The nurse began to walk away, indicating that I should follow. Glancing over my shoulder I saw Leo’s worried look, a small, supportive wave from Donna. I took a deep breath and prepared myself for the sight of Josh once more lying injured and in pain.

***

The first thing I noticed was the thick, plastic tube of the ventilator protruding from Josh’s mouth.

The second thing I noticed was the incessant click as the machine kept Josh’s lungs inflating rhythmically, artificially.

The third thing I noticed as I sat down in the chair next to Josh’s bed was the smell of smoke. I leaned forward to kiss his forhead, and realised the odor was clinging to his hair.

“Josh … oh, Josh.” The words caught in my throat as I looked at him lying there. His skin was pale, his mouth was slightly distorted where the tube was inserted. He was bare chested, the stickers for the leads tracing his heart activity adhering to his skin. On the left side of his body I could see the black and blue of bruising. I couldn’t imagine how that could have happened.

“We have him sedated.”

I looked up, saw a different nurse adjusting the IV that was delivering saline into his left arm.

“Sedated?”

“He’s making attempts to breathe for himself,” she explained. “Once we’re sure his sats are okay, we’ll take him off the vent, but in the meantime we don’t want him to fight it.”

I took hold of his hand, stroked his forearm. “His heart … is that okay? He had thoracic surgery last year.”

“We have a full medical history, we know all about Josh’s gunshot wound. And yes, his heart rate is fine. We were a little concerned about his blood pressure, but it‘s natural to rise as a result of a trauma. It‘s settling down now.”

“Do you know where the bruising came from?” I asked. It looked horrible, spreading like an irregular stain from the front of his lower rib cage and apparently all the way round his left side.

“As far as I’m aware when the fire started he must have dropped from his bed to the floor. We think he may have fallen against something - maybe the nightstand.” She began pressing buttons on the heart monitor. “There’s nothing broken.”

I started to feel a little calmer in the face of the nurse’s relaxed attitude. I started to believe Leo’s assurances that Josh was going to be fine. At the moment it seemed like a waiting game until Josh’s respiration improved and the sedation wore off. I sat quietly watching him while his nurse drew off some blood, checked the ventilation tube and did other, more mysterious activities that seemed to be routine to ICU nurses.

“I’m stepping out for a few minutes,” she said eventually. “The call button’s there if you need anything. Oh, and I’m Shelley, by the way.”

“Sam Seaborn,“ I replied, extending a hand for her to shake. “And thanks.” I turned my head briefly as she exited the room, then turned my attention back to Josh. I stroked his hair as I began talking to him.

“I don’t know if you can hear me, sweetheart. I’m sorry … I’m sorry I acted so stupidly at the dinner, I’m sorry we argued … “

I continued in this vein for a few minutes, searching Josh’s face for any sign of the sedation wearing off, but I soon worked out that they’d administered enough medication to keep him comatose for quite a while yet. So for a while I sat quietly enough, holding Josh’s hand and intermittently raising it to my lips while I occasionally spoke his name. Shelley returned and for the next couple of hours I watched her monitoring Josh’s condition until she left us alone once again. Eventually I heard a light tapping on the door.

“Sam.” Donna’s voice was little more than a whisper. 

“Hey,” I said, standing up to face her.

She moved into the room. “How is he?”

“The nurse seems happy enough. His sats are coming back up and his blood pressure’s down. Here, take my seat.” I moved aside to let her sit, stretching my arms above my head and twisting my neck to and fro to alleviate some of the stiffness.

“This is the quietest I’ve seen him for a long time,” Donna smiled. She leaned over and placed a kiss on his forehead. I heard her gasp. “Have you seen that bruise?”

“The nurse thinks he may have done it when he fell onto the floor from the bed,” I replied. “No bones broken, though.”

“Thank God. Sam, don’t you think you should go get yourself a cup of coffee or something?” Donna looked anxious. Evidently she was taking Leo’s instructions very seriously.

“I want to be here when he wakes up,” I said. 

Donna sighed and lapsed into silence. I moved around the bed and gazed down at Josh. 

“I’ve dreaded this ever since he was shot,” I said, “seeing him lying in hospital. I always thought that if anything happened it would be as a result of the paraplegia, or the bullet causing an infection or something, but this … Another fire … he nearly … God … “

I pressed my hand against my mouth, not wanting to go on. 

“Sam, please, go and get something to drink or some fresh air.” Donna stood up, leaned across the bed and touched my hand.

“No, Donna, I … “

“Sam.” Shelley appeared in the doorway. “There’s someone here to see you - Mike Brookes.”

“I can’t. Josh needs me here,” I answered. I could speak to Mike as soon as I was satisfied Josh was awake and recovering.

“I think you should see him Sam,” said Donna. 

“I don’t want to leave Josh. He might wake up. He’ll be so scared if I’m not here.” I didn’t add that I was afraid he’d think I’d abandoned him after the coldness of our parting yesterday. God, was it really just twenty-four hours ago? It seemed like a lifetime.

“Sam, Josh isn’t going to wake up yet,” Shelley said. “The doctor will visit him in about an hour. He’ll decide whether we need to keep Josh on the vent or whether we can stop the sedation and extubate him.”

How could I fight these two determined women? Reluctantly I bent down, brushed my lips across Josh’s hair. “See you in a few minutes, babe,” I whispered.

“Mr Brookes is in the relatives’ room,” explained Shelley as she held the door open to let me pass out of ICU. “He’s very anxious to speak with you.”

We turned a corner, stopping outside an anonymous looking door. A blue sign with white lettering read “Relatives room.” Absently I noted the apostrophe was missing. 

“Here we are,” said Shelley. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“You’ll call me if there’s any change?” I asked.

She nodded before walking away. 

The relatives’ room was a small, narrow space housing a couch along one wall and several standard fake leather chairs. There was a small TV and a table with a few dog-eared magazines. As soon as I entered, Mike stood up wearily. 

“How’s Josh?” were his first words.

“Josh … he’s … he’s going to be okay. We’re just waiting for the doctor to give the okay to take him off the ventilator.”

I walked over to him, impulsively reaching out to grab his hand in both of mine. Fortunately I saw the bandages that reminded me of his injuries. I changed tack and placed my hand on his shoulder. “I can’t thank you enough, Mike. You saved his life. Now for Christ’s sake, will you sit down before you fall down.”

Mike sat down on the couch, leaned back and closed his eyes. “I’m sorry it had to come to this. I don’t know why he couldn’t reach his wheelchair.”

I dropped down into a chair. “What do you mean, he couldn’t reach his wheelchair?”

Mike opened his eyes. I saw they were red rimmed, presumably from the effects of the smoke. “The fire alarm went off. I was in the shower, so I got into some clothes as quickly as I could. The arrangement that Josh and I had was that if the alarm went off he would wait for me if he was in difficulties, otherwise he would get himself out of the building. You know what he’s like about wanting to take care of himself.”

“Yeah. “ I laughed slightly. “Go on.”

“I went to his room to check. I stuck my head round the door, saw he wasn’t there. The door to the en suite was open, no lights on, nothing. I called his name then figured he must have gone because I didn’t see his wheelchair next to the bed.”

“You’re certain of that?” I asked.

“Positive. So I went outside where Ron was doing a head count. It didn’t take long to see Josh wasn’t there. That’s when I went back in. The smoke was pretty thick by this time even though the sprinklers had come on. I went back into Josh’s room and that’s how I know for a fact I hadn’t been wrong about his wheelchair. It had been pushed to the other side of the room.”

Mike looked at me as if waiting for a response. “He couldn’t have put it there himself,” I said.

“I know. But it barely registered with me at the time because I still hadn’t found Josh. So I went back out into the corridor and instead of turning right which is the way Josh should have gone to exit the building, I turned left instead. And that’s where I found Josh. He must have panicked, gone the wrong way and ended up going further back into the building.”

I felt sick at the thought. Josh must have woken up, heard the fire alarm, smelt the smoke …

“You know his sister died in a fire when he was six years old, don’t you? That Josh was there?” I asked.

“I didn’t know until tonight. Leo told me. I think Josh must have been scared, disoriented … he must have crawled along the floor.” He stopped, probably not wanting to make me feel any worse than I evidently did because by this time I was sitting with my face buried in my hands.

“Jesus,” I muttered.

“Yeah.”

We sat in uneasy silence for a couple of minutes. Finally, “It must have been difficult to carry him out - he’d have been a dead weight unconscious.”

Mike shrugged. “I’ve done it before … in combat.”

“Yeah, Leo said your military experience must have stood you in good stead. Still.” I nodded towards his hands. “How did you … ? “ 

“Oh.” He lifted them up, almost as if he’d forgotten about his own problems. “There was a curtain that was burning near Josh. When I was maneuvering round him to lift him up I must have brushed against it. The burns are pretty superficial.”

“Must hurt though,” I observed.

“Like hell actually,” he smiled ruefully.

“Have you spoken to Marian?” I asked, referring to his wife. “She’ll have been contacted by the White House but if she’s anything like me she won’t be convinced you’re okay until she hears your voice.”

“I phoned her before I came down here. She burst into tears then tore me off a strip for taking such a risk. She’s glad I got Josh out safely, though.”

“Aren’t we all.” Donna’s voice drifted in from the doorway. “You’re a hero. The President will probably organize a ticker tape parade.”

“Donna?” I leaped up from my chair. “What’s happened? Is Josh awake?”

“No, the doctor’s with him. Threw me out of the room.” She flung herself into a seat in disgust. “How are you Mike?”

“Nothing that a shower and a few hours sleep won’t fix. However,” he lifted his hands, “the shower might be a bit difficult.”

Now that Donna had returned I saw my chance to make a suggestion that would benefit all of us - that is, stop Donna fussing over me while at the same time giving herself and Mike a break. “Donna, why don’t you take Mike home then you can get some rest yourself? I want to see what the doctor has to say.”

Donna looked uncertain.”Leo told me to stay in case you needed anything.”

“I’ll be fine. I promise I’ll leave as soon as Josh is conscious and I’m happy he’s okay.” I made a move towards the door before she could protest further. “Thanks again, Mike, for everything.”

“Sure.” He raised his hand in farewell and I made my escape.

***

Back in Josh’s room the doctor Donna had alluded to was checking the monitor next to the bed. He glanced up briefly as I entered, moving to the end of the bed and picking up the file that contained the notes and records Shelley had been keeping.

“I’d rather you waited outside until I’ve finished,” he said.

“If it’s all the same to you I’ll stay,” I replied. “Josh would want to know I’m here.”

“And you are?”

I didn’t particularly like his tone, but if he was a competent doctor I was content to let it pass. I’ve always said a doctor could have the bedside manner of Attila the Hun but if he could help Josh I could care less.

“Sam Seaborn, Josh’s partmer,” I said in answer to his question.

Once aogan hre looked up from his reading. “I thought Mr Lyman worked in the White House?”

“Not as in business, as in life … “

“Oh,” he said, interrupting my expalanation. “Right. I’m Dcotor Bailey.”

He walked back to Josh’s bedside, lifted each of his eyelids and waved a small torch in front of Josh’s pupils. “His sats have stabilised so we’re letting the sedation wear off. He should be waking up in about an hour or so.”

I pulled a chair up and resumed my place next to Josh. “Will there be any ill effects from all of this?”

“Well, aside from a sore throat and some wheezing for the next few days, I’d say not. He wasn’t deprived of oxygen to the extent that we envisaged any neurological damage, and he didn’t do any permanent damage when he fell from the bed. Not even a cracked rib.” He stood for a moment looking down at Josh. “He’s been very lucky.”

“Yeah,” I said quietly. 

“When he wakes up I’ll be back to take him off the vent. I should warn you he might be agitated when he realizes he’s got a tube down his throat. Maybe you‘d like to go home, come back when he‘s extubated?”

I grasped Josh’s hand once again. “No. I need to be here.”

“As you wish.” His tone was peremptory, but worried me not one whit.

He left the room but we weren’t left alone for very long. ICU patients are closely monitored by their own personal nurse, so I wasn’t surprised to see Shelley return. Once again she went quietly about her duties while I kept vigil with Josh. Through the small window high up in the wall opposite I could see the sky was now bright with early morning sunshine. I’d just dropped my eyes to glance at my watch - to my surprise it read 8:10 am - when I heard a noise, a human sound, one that was over and above the monotonous mechanical click of the ventilator. Josh had given a stifled moan, his eyelids were fluttering and he stirred slightly. In an instant Shelley was at his side and I was on my feet.

“Speak to him, Sam, let him hear your voice,” Shelley ordered.

“Josh, it’s me, Sam. I’m here, sweetheart.” I squeezed his hand, hoping it would reassure him.

Suddenly, Josh’s eyes opened. Almost immediately I could see the fear as he registered the tube in his throat, the way he had to fight against the technology to breathe. 

“You’re in hospital, Josh,” said Shelley. “The tube is to help you breathe. We’ll take it out soon.” She leaned over to press a button on the wall.

I could see Josh’s eyes focus on my face. I forced a smile. “It’s okay, baby. You’re going to be fine.”

“Hi, Josh. I’m Doctor Bailey.” Doctor Bailey pushed past me. “Can you wait outside, please.”

I looked over at Josh, interpreted the look in his eyes. I knew he was begging me to stay.

“I’m staying,” I said.

The doctor threw me an exasperated look, but nodded his acquiescence. “Just don’t get in the way,” he snapped. “Josh, I’m going to take the tube out. I’m going to count to three, and on three I want you to cough. Okay? One, two , three.”

Josh coughed, Doctor Bailey slid the tube out and I heard Josh gasp. Then … 

“Sam.” My name came out raspingly. I lunged towards the bed but was stopped by Shelley. I saw Doctor Bailey looking at the heart monitor, then he nodded.

“You’re doing good, Josh,” he said. “I want you to stay with us under observation for a little while, and all being well you can go home in a couple of days.” 

He stepped aside and left the room. I gratefully took his place beside Josh. I bent down, kissed his cheek, gently stroked his hair. I heard Josh breathing, unaided. It was the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard.

“It hurts … what happened?” Josh looked confused and scared. Not surprising since the last time he woke up in hospital he’d almost died.

“There was a fire, honey. At Camp David.” I tried to keep it simple, give Josh time to digest the meaning of what I was saying.

“Is everyone okay?” The words were labored, Josh’s voice painfully hoarse. But I could see his eyes focusing more clearly, the confusion dissipating.

“Yes, everyone’s fine,” I answered. 

“I couldn’t get out … I was so scared … “ Josh began to cough.

“You’re safe, baby,” I said. “Mike got you out.”

“Josh.” Shelley’s voice broke through. “I’m Shelley. I’d like to make you more comfortable then you can talk to Sam.”

“Need some help. Shell?” I looked round to see an older nurse come into the room. Even if I hadn’t seen her id badge held the designation “Head Nurse” I would have guessed she was Shelley’s superior. She had that air of authority in the same way Leo had - that is, she wore it lightly but it was unmistakeable.

“Thank you, that would be good.” Shelley began removing the IV from Josh’s arm. “Josh, this is Mary. You’re very honored, she’s head nurse of this unit.”

Josh gave a slight smile. “Hi,” he said with some effort.

“May I?” Mary asked, the question directed at me. I moved to the bottom of the bed to allow Mary to stand in the place I’d vacated with Shelley on the opposite side. “Josh, we’re going to get you a gown, check your temperature and blood pressure and take some more blood. And let’s see if we can sit you up in the bed, help you breathe a little easier. Does that sound okay?”

Josh nodded, began to say something but before he could speak he was overcome by a coughing fit. He tried to sit up, but couldn’t manage it. I’d seen this happen so many times when his back had gone into spasm. I guessed matters weren’t helped by the discomfort caused by the bruising. I started to move round the bed.

“Please … he’ll need some help, he’s had a spinal injury … he‘s paralysed, sometimes it’s hard for him to sit up … “

This earned me a withering glance from Mary who already had her arm behind Josh’s shoulder to help him into a sitting position.

“We’re well aware of Mr Lyman’s medical history, Mr … ?” 

“Seaborn. Sam Seaborn.”

“He’ll be fine Mr Seaborn. Maybe you’d like to wait outside until we’re done here?”

The head nurse turned her attention back to Josh, just in time to see him throw up all over the bed. Shelley managed to grab a disposable bowl and held Josh’s head over it as he retched. It sounded like he couldn’t catch his breath. I was terrified.

“Oh, God, Josh … “ This time I ignored Mary’s steely glare and stumbled round the bed to stand next to her. “Please, let me near him … he needs me … I know how he likes to be supported when he sits up… “ 

“Shelley, get him out of here,” ordered Mary. 

“I’m sorry … I’m sorry … “ I heard Josh saying. I remember thinking he’ll hate this, it’s so undignified, it makes him appear so dependent on others.

“Come on, Sam.” Shelley touched my elbow and sensing defeat I allowed myself to be led away. She took me outside.

“He’ll be so embarrassed,” I said. By this time I was almost crying. “Please, I won’t interfere, I just want to make sure he’s all right.”

“No, Sam.” Shelley’s voice was gentle, yet insistent. “He’s nauseous because of the coughing. He’ll have a lot of congestion in his lungs from the smoke. Believe me, he’ll feel better now and later today we’ll have the physical therapist work with him to help clear his lungs.”

I sighed, slumping against the wall. From this vantage point the unit seemed all calm with nurses attending to their prone patients, whilst the occasional doctor walked quietly past. I felt my own stress level begin to fall a little.

“I guess I’ll go make some calls, let everyone know Josh is off the ventilator.”

“You do that,” said Shelley. “Give us half an hour and Josh will be all smartened up ready to see you.”

“Thanks.” 

She gave my arm a squeeze before she returned to Josh’s room. As she shut the door I heard Mary’s voice. “You think you’re the first person to throw up over me? Wish I had a dollar for every time it’s happened.” To my relief this was met by a laugh that despite the hoarse sound was unmistakeably Josh. For the first time in hours I felt confident enough to put more than a few yards between myself and Josh.

***

“Leo? It’s Sam.”

“Sam – what’s happening? How’s Josh?” Leo’s voice was sharp with concern.

“He’s okay … “ The sound of an engine being revved up suddenly made it difficult to hear or be heard. “Hang on, I can hardly hear you, I’m just going to move somewhere quieter.”

I stood up from the low wall I’d perched on outside the main hospital entrance, walking away from the noise of arriving and departing ambulances. I found a patch of grass with a wooden bench and sat, carefully setting down my half consumed cup of black coffee. 

“I’m back,” I said. “So … he’s off the ventilator, he’s conscious and alert. He’s coughing up a storm though.”

“Should we be worried?” Leo enquired.

“According to the nurse it’s perfectly normal. It’s making him nauseous, but they’ll give him physical therapy to help clear the gunk from his lungs.”

“That’s a technical term, I take it?” Leo asked drily.

“Yeah,” I laughed. God, it felt good to be able to joke about it. “Except the nurse called it congestion.”

“Then that’s what I’ll tell the First Lady – oh, she wants to know the name of the doctor who’s treating him.”

“Bailey,” I replied. “Should I warn him to expect a call?”

“You bet.” I wasn’t surprised. Dr Bartlet had kept a similar watching brief on Josh’s treatment and recovery after the shooting. “Have you spoken to Jane?” I asked, referring to Josh’s mother.

“I managed to break the news before she’d seen the TV or listened to the radio in Germany.”

I groaned. “Damn, I’d forgotten she was out of the country.” It was only last week that Jane Lyman had traveled to Europe to visit family. “How did she take it?”

“How do you think? She’s talking about jumping on the earliest plane she can get.”

“Well if it’s any comfort it looks as though they’ll only keep him here for a couple of days’ observation, then all being well he can come home. He’s got some bruising where he fell out of bed, but there’s nothing broken. His heart’s fine and his sats are good,” I explained. “And you know Josh – he’ll hate it if she cuts short her vacation. You know how he feels about people fussing over him.”

“I’ll call her back, tell her to hang fire. Let’s see how Josh feels. Tell him I’ll come over to the hospital in an hour or so.”

“Fine. I’ll see you later.” I flipped my cell closed then checked my watch. I settled down to finish my coffee and while away the next few minutes until it was time to return to Josh.

***

“Can I go in?” I asked Shelley as she emerged from Josh’s room.

“No problem. He’s a little impatient to see you,” she smiled.

“Only a little?” I asked. “Give him another day, *then* you’ll see what an impatient Josh looks like.”

I pushed the door open. Josh turned his head, smiled. I almost ran across the room in my rush to fling my arms around him and hold him close.

“Oh … “ I couldn’t say anything else, I could feel my eyes filling with tears as we clung to one another.

“I’m fine, Sam, don’t worry, I’m fine.” Josh’s voice sounded stronger, although it was still husky. 

I drew away to study his face, look for any signs that may have belied his words, but couldn’t resist leaning back in for a kiss. Soft, gentle, sweet. Josh stroked his thumb under my eye, wiped away a stray tear that had escaped despite my best efforts to stem the tears that had been threatening to flow ever since Leo had steered me into Toby’s office all those hours ago. I took a deep breath, sat down. One hand clasped Josh’s, the other rested on his arm. I felt as if I wanted to touch every part of him, convince myself he was safe.

“Christ, Josh, I was so scared,” I said. “When I think of what could have happened … “

“Then don’t,” he insisted. “It’s over. I’ll be out of here in a couple of days.”

I dropped my eyes under the intensity of his gaze. The love and concern he was showing for me made me feel even more ashamed of the way I’d treated him before he left for Camp David. “I’m sorry, Josh, I’m so, so sorry … “

“Well unless you snuck up to Maryland and started the fire, I really don’t … “

“Stop it, Josh.” I couldn’t help the sharp tone that had entered my voice. “You know what I’m talking about. The arguing after the dinner, not letting you near me when we were in bed, barely speaking to you on the morning you left … “

“Stop.” Josh pressed his fingers against my lips. “Stop. This. Right. Now.” The words were heavy with emphasis. “We argued, we were angry with one another. I’m sorry too, I was an insensitive jackass.”

“But you tried to make up. I pushed you away, and you could have died … “ I gripped his hand tightly, held it against my face.

“But I didn’t die. And we’re fine now … aren’t we?” Josh was no longer smiling. He tried to turn his body towards me, but ended up wincing. “Dammit … “

“Lie still, baby.” I put my hand on his shoulder, gently pushed him back against the pillows. “Yes. Yes, we’re fine.”

His face softened and I felt as if the dinner and everything that went with it had all been a figment of my imagination. The disagreement over Afonso, David Strachan turning up at the White House, the message left on our answer phone … the memories slipped out of my mind, insubstantial as a chimera. All that mattered was that Josh had survived the fire and that he was going to get well. 

“I think I’ve aged ten years since Leo told me what happened,” I said.

“Impossible,” Josh answered. He grinned, flashing his dimples at me.

“Josh, darling … “ My hands were stroking his hair, his face. Our lips touched once more.

Several kisses and endearments later I decided I wanted some answers.

“Josh, I don’t understand how you came to be on the floor,” I began hesitantly. I didn’t want to press too much. Despite Josh’s insistence that he was fine, I was fearful that a second experience of being trapped in a burning building would leave deeper, more damaging wounds that weren’t outwardly visible.

“I guess I must have miscalculated where my wheelchair was,” he answered. 

“Mike found your wheelchair on the other side of the room,” I told him. “Don’t you recall who put it there?”

He shrugged. If I hadn’t known better I’d have said he was being evasive, but I let it pass. I guessed all the trauma must have made the details a little hazy.

“Go on,” I prompted.

He frowned, as if trying to remember. “I was asleep … the fire alarms woke me … I was … confused. I couldn’t remember where I was … I felt … “

He stopped, his breathing coming a little quicker. He began to cough. It sounded harsh and painful. I held a glass of water to his lips, waited until he’d taken a sip or two.

“Why don’t you stop, just rest,” I said. I was regretting opening up the subject. “You don’t have to think about this now. Leo will find out what happened.”

“Sam, it was like I was six years old again,” he explained. “I could smell the smoke. I didn’t put the light on, I couldn’t see my wheelchair so I just dropped onto the floor. I know I should have waited for Mike. That was the agreement we had. But I was so frightened. I got onto the floor … “

“Is that when you hurt yourself?” I asked.

He nodded. “Yeah. I should have lowered myself down slowly but my hand slipped from under me and I hit the nightstand on the way down. Then I crawled along the floor until I found the door. But when I opened it, I turned left instead of right. That’s when I found myself in amongst all the smoke. I couldn’t breathe … “

By this time Josh was trembling uncontrollably.

“Shh.” I moved from the chair to sit on the edge of Josh’s bed. I held him until the tremors had ceased. He felt limp in my arms. “And that’s when Mike found you.” 

“Yes.” 

“And that’s all that matters,” I said, leaning down to kiss him once more. “I’ve got my Josh back safe and sound and that’s all that matters.”

***

“Go home, Sam.”

My head jerked up at the sound of Leo’s voice. The last thing I remembered was Josh eventually falling asleep and me stroking his hair. My eyes had grown heavy but I hadn’t realized I’d actually dozed off. I didn’t know how long I’d slept. I gently pulled mine and Josh’s hands apart.

“Mmm … Sam?” Josh opened his eyes, blinked blearily around him. “Leo? What time is it?”

“A little after eleven. How’re you doing, kid?”

I stood up, let Leo take my now vacant chair.

“Better,” said Josh. “Is the President okay?” I’d already set his mind at rest about the rest of the occupants of Camp David.

“He’s worried about you and mad as hell that he had to spend time in the hospital. I’ve spoken to your mother – I thought she should know that her only son has gotten himself in trouble yet again.” Leo looked a little fierce, but I knew that masked the concern he felt for the man he thought of as a son. “She wanted to fly back today … “

“No, Leo.” Josh interrupted. “She’s been planning this trip for over a year. She’s got relatives traveling from other parts of Germany to see her.”

That’s when the coughing started again. 

“Where’s the call button?” Leo barked.

“No … I don’t need … “ Josh gasped.

I pushed myself past Leo, put my arm round Josh’s shoulder and got him sitting upright. Grabbing a bowl from the nightstand I thrust it in front of Josh. Eventually he was done.

“You want some water?” I asked.

He took the glass from me and signalled his thanks with his eyes while he drank.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Leo asked worriedly. 

“I’m fine,” Josh croaked. “Now, about my mom … “

“I persuaded her to sit tight until I’d checked in with you.”

Josh let his head fall back against the pillows with a thump. “Thank God. I just want this whole episode closed. It’s no big deal. Tell her to finish her vacation.”

I glanced over at Leo. We both knew it was a ‘big deal’, that something had gone badly wrong and we needed to find out why. But the Chief of Staff’s face was impassive, and if he knew any more than either myself or Josh he wasn’t giving any indication of it.

“Sam, I think you should go now,” Josh said. “You look wrecked and I’m sure they’ll be missing you back at the ranch.”

“Only if you’re sure.” Truth be told I was desperate to shower and change before heading back to the White House.

“Go,” he said gently. 

We both hesitated, unsure of how to make our goodbyes with Leo sitting there. Fortunately he sensed our dilemma.

“I’m just gonna … “ he gestured with his thumb towards the door. “Maybe I’ll see your Doctor Bailey, warn him to expect a call from the First Lady.”

“Oh, man!” Josh rolled his eyes.

“Josh, that’s the President’s wife you’re referring to,” admonished Leo, as if Josh needed reminding. “You know she won’t be happy until she’s seen for herself that you’re okay, but in the meantime she’ll continue to harass the unsuspecting medical staff.”

“I hate to leave you,” I said as soon as Leo had gone.

“Don’t believe you. I bet you can’t wait to get home to shower and floss your teeth.”

“Am I that predictable?” I sighed.

“Only to me,” Josh murmured. He lifted his arm, drew my head down towards him. “Now go. I’ve got a date with a no doubt sadistic physical therapist.”

“Mmm.” I made the kiss linger as much as I possibly could until we were both a little breathless.

“I love you, Sam,” Josh said. “Last night … I thought of you … I could feel the smoke choking me, and I thought of you.”

“Couldn’t live without you, babe. You know that.” I gave him one final hug, reluctantly pulled away. “I’ll see you later. Don’t give the therapist a hard time.”

“As if.” Josh grinned, looking more like his old self.

I was still smiling goofily as I stepped out into the corridor where Leo was waiting. He placed his hand on the door handle.

“Wait, Leo,” I said. “Have you found out what exactly happened last night?”

“It’s in hand, Sam,” he said non-commitally. He turned to face the door.

“We need to find out what happened,” I insisted.

He looked at me over his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it,” he said before disappearing into Josh’s room.

And that was most definitely that for the time being. It was faintly unsettling, but that was outweighed by the fact that I felt a hundred times better leaving the hospital than I had when I entered it in the early hours of the morning.

***  
It took me a lot longer than normal to cover the distance between the White House lobby and the communications’ bullpen due to the numbers of people who waylaid me to enquire about Josh. I’d arrived back there in the mid-afternoon after stopping off en route from the hospital to grab a quick shower and change of clothing, pick up PJs and wash bag for Josh and finally buy lunch in the shape of a bagel and a cup of coffee. Between munching and drinking I repeated the same update on Josh’s condition at least ten times before I finally made it to Toby’s office. If the yelling that issued from his open door told me something about his current mood, the way Ginger stomped out from his office told me a whole lot more.

“Am I glad to see you,” she said, stopping in mid-glare to ask, “how’s Josh?”

I held up my hand as I chewed and swallowed the last morsel of bagel. 

“Sorry. Lunch,” I explained. “He’s much better. His breathing’s fine, apart from some wheezing and he’s got a helluva cough, but yeah. He’s fine. Should be home in a couple of days.”

“I’m so glad, Sam.” She squeezed my arm sympathetically. “How are *you*? It must have been awful for you.”

I shrugged. Josh had been through so much I was inclined to play down my own reaction to the whole traumatic series of events. “I’m just glad Mike was able to get to him in time. If he hadn’t … ”

Ginger shuddered, once more reached out for me, this time clutching my hand. “Don’t. I can’t bear to think about it.”

We stood in silence for a couple of seconds. “You don’t look so good, Sam. You look as if you could sleep for a week. And as for coffee and a bagel … You should have stayed home, had a proper meal and some rest.”

“Like hell he should.” Toby stood next to my shoulder, one hand on the door jamb. He gestured with his head to indicate I move into his office. “There’s work to do now we’re one person down.”

“Right with you, Toby. Thanks, Ginger. I’ll see you later.” I pushed my empty coffee container into an already overflowing trash basket then followed my boss into his office. Some people would have thought he sounded heartless, but I knew he would have guessed I wouldn’t settle at home, chewing over Josh’s near disastrous stay at Camp David, worrying over why it had happened. He would also know how much I’d be beating myself up over why I wasn’t there, when there was actually no reason I should have been at the presidential retreat in the first place. Then again, Toby would also be thinking of the small matter that the country had to be governed, come what may.

“So … “ Toby dropped down into the chair behind his desk while I occupied the couch. “He’s really okay?”

I nodded, closing my eyes, allowing myself to give way a little to the feeling of relief. “He is. He really is. God, Toby, if you could have seen him last night when they brought him in to GW … barely breathing, unconscious … it was like Rosslyn all over again.” I brought my hand up to my face, covered my eyes. I was aware of someone else entering the room, smelt the familiar scent of CJ’s perfume as she sat down next to me. 

“Let it go, Sam. You’ll feel better.”

Gratefully I let myself lean against CJ as she wrapped one arm around my shoulder. 

“No.” Any tears to be shed would be shed in private. “I’m just tired.”

“You need a moment, ‘cos Toby and I can make ourselves scarce?”

I shook my head, looked over at Toby who suddenly seemed to have become engrossed in conducting an inventory of the array of pens and pencils he kept on his desk.

“Don’t worry, Toby, I’m not having a breakdown,” I said.

“Hm.” He shuffled through some papers on his desk. “We need to do a stocktake, maybe reprioritze some work. There’s stuff needs to be picked up from Josh’s area too.”

“Toby.” CJ’s voice had an impatient edge. “Did you at least update Sam on what happened at Camp David?”

“I thought Leo would have done it,” said Toby.

“What is it?” I asked eagerly, sitting up straight.

Toby leaned forward, leaning his elbows on the desk, his shoulders hunched as he fiddled with a pen. 

“They found out what caused the fire,” he began. “It was an electrical fault in a light fitting. Fortunately the fire fighters managed to contain it, although …“ He stopped, gave me a look. I knew he was debating how I would react to what came next.

“Go on,” I said. I felt CJ’s hand round my shoulder grip me a little tighter.

“It was spreading towards the area where Josh was lying. If Mike hadn’t found him when he did, things would have been a lot worse.”

We lapsed into silence. CJ shifted next to me, rubbed my arm.

“But he did find him,” she said softly. “Don’t dwell on what might have been, Sam.”

I waited for Toby to go on but he didn’t. “Is that it?” I asked. 

“Is that it?” repeated Toby. “It’s not enough that the building hadn’t been targeted by an arsonist? It’s not enough that the President wasn’t put at risk by some terrorist?”

“What about Josh? His wheelchair?” I couldn’t believe Leo hadn’t unearthed anything about that. “The fact it was moved so he couldn’t use it? Leo said he‘d find out *exactly* what happened.”

“Sam, Leo’s been talking to everyone who was there. The only person he hasn’t spoken to is Josh and he’s doing that now, I guess,” reasoned CJ. “You know he won’t tell us anything until he’s sure of his facts.”

“I guess you’re right,” I agreed reluctantly. “Except I don’t know what he’ll get out of Josh. He couldn’t remember a thing … “

I stopped. Something was bothering me, something that had been niggling at the fringes of my subconscious ever since I’d left the hospital. I saw Toby and CJ looking at me questioningly.

“When I asked Josh about what had happened so that his wheelchair had been moved out of his reach tot the other side of the room, he said he couldn’t remember. But he *could* recall the fire alarms going off and crawling out into the corridor … “

“So?” asked CJ.

“If the trauma had made him forget about his wheelchair, don’t you think he would have forgotten about everything that happened *after* that until he woke up in GW? Isn’t that the way it usually happens? You remember everything up until a certain point and then forget the rest, not have your memories broken up like that?”

“Sam, we’re not psychiatrists, how the hell should we know?” Toby asked, his voice getting louder in his exasperation. “Maybe it does work like that.”

I cast my mind back to Josh’s reaction when I’d questioned him, the way he’d shrugged when I’d pressed him on the puzzle about his wheelchair. “No, there was something not quite right … the way he behaved when I asked him.”

“Sam,” CJ said gently, “Josh has just been through another trauma in a little over a year since the shooting, not to mention it’s not the first time he’s been trapped in a fire. Little wonder he’s confused.”

There was sense in what she said, I knew it. Neurologists will admit that despite years of research there are still more things they don’t understand than understand about the workings of the human brain. Put like that, along with CJ’s reasoned analysis, my suspicions started to look more than a little overwrought.

“All right,” I said. “I’ll wait and see what Leo has to say.”

Toby threw up his hands, raised his eyes to the ceiling. “So if that’s *finally* settled, can we *please* get on with some work?”

“I think that’s my cue to leave.” CJ stood up, smoothed down her skirt, adjusted her jacket. “I’ve got a briefing in an hour. Most of today’s been taken up with briefing on the fire, so I guess I should go let the press know that someone’s still running the country.”

With a final wave and a promise to visit Josh that evening, she was gone. I moved to sit in the visitor’s chair near Toby’s desk and was quickly immersed in the business of re-prioritizing our work. As we sorted through papers and divided up the work between ourselves and other staffers, my questions and concerns started to drop away, and after a while it seemed like the night before hadn’t happened at all. 

***

“I think I’m going to call it a day,” I said to Cathy as I emerged from my office. It was six o’clock and I’d worked solidly for almost four hours. I’d already cleared it with Toby that I could leave early to visit Josh, while calling in on Leo before I left for the hospital. I’d also reluctantly agreed to take Josh some briefing papers, intending to forget them ‘accidentally on purpose’, but when I told Toby of my plan he insisted that Josh’s recovery would more likely be hampered by lying there fretting about work than if he actually undertook a little reading. As a result, I found myself in Josh’s work area en route to Leo’s office, my eyes searching out Donna when I heard my name being called.

“Sam.”

I spun round to see Jake, one of Josh’s interns, standing behind a desk in the most cramped part of the bullpen. Donna was always complaining about how insalubrious her own work station was, but the interns were always given the area near the photocopier or the printers or some other bulky piece of office equipment. I watched as Jake made his way through the cluttered area.

“Jake – hi. How are you? Have you recovered from last night’s excitement?” I knew Jake had also been at Camp David providing administrative support.

“I’m fine thanks. I wanted to see you about Josh.” Jake stood in front of me. He looked anxious, unduly so I thought. He was very pale and his eyes were red. I wondered if he’d also been affected by the smoke.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” I pressed. “Did you suffer any ill effects from the fire?”

“No … no. I just needed to see you … tell you I’m sorry.” He raised a hand to his mouth, began gnawing at the side of his thumb.

“Sorry? Sorry about what?” I was totally nonplussed, I couldn’t even begin to imagine what he was talking about.

“About Josh.” He looked at me, then his gaze slid away so that he was looking to the side of me.

“Josh is perfectly okay,” I reassured him. “He’s probably giving the nurses a really hard time. Hell, he even asked me to take some work, so lighten up a little!” 

I leaned over, slapped him lightly on the arm then made to walk away until Jake shifted slightly to block my path.

“No, you don’t understand,” he said. “I meant I’m sorry that Josh was caught in the fire … it was my fault and I feel so guilty … “

“Wait a minute.” The sound of my voice brought him up short. “What do you mean it was your fault? What did you do, Jake? Tell me, what did you do?”

I suppose I should have taken him somewhere private. That would have been the professional thing to do, especially as I was aware on some subliminal level at a change in the atmosphere around me as the other staff heard my raised voice. But in that instant it was as if in the whole of the White House there was only me, Jake and the answer to the question that had been bugging me 

He swallowed hard. “It was late. Josh had gone to his room, and I was finishing collating some papers for the next day’s sessions. He rang me on my cell and asked for the notes I’d typed up from the plenary session that afternoon. When I got to his room he was already in bed but he wanted to give me some work for early next day. I looked round for somewhere to sit and he asked me to sit on the edge of the bed so we could both see the document he was reading, so I moved his wheelchair … “

“You idiot,” I interrupted. “You goddamn idiot.”

I moved slightly towards Jake, into that area they call ‘private space’. To give him his due he didn’t flinch. Despite the fear that seeped into the already worried expression on his face, he carried on with his explanation.

“I moved his wheelchair to the other side of the room. I stayed there about fifteen minutes taking notes and when I left … “ His voice was shaking now. “I forgot to move it back next to the bed.”

God help me it was all I could do not to grab him by the collar and frog march him right out of the building, but instead I forced myself to keep my feet rooted to the ground, my hands that were bunched into fists firmly at my side. “So your forgetfulness … no, your gross stupidity … almost got Josh killed. He was barely breathing when he got to GW, you know that, don’t you? And Mike, what about Mike? He risked his own life to get Josh out of there.” 

“I know and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” By this time Jake was almost in tears. The satisfaction I felt at the sight was almost sadistic, but I was nowhere near finished with what I had to say. I was almost beyond anger, but this time I managed to keep my voice low and steady. Nevertheless what I said next sounded loud to my ears in the hush that had fallen in the bullpen as staffers pretended not to notice what was going on by feigning interest in papers, computer screens or anything else that came to hand.

“Get out,” I said.

“Sam … “ Donna’s voice came from somewhere behind me, but I ignored her attempt at an intervention.

“I want your desk cleared in thirty minutes by which time security will escort you out of the building. Consider your time in Washington at an end.”

Jake stood with his hands in his pockets; he nodded his miserably bowed head slightly in acknowledgement.

“Sam, please … “ Donna’s voice again, quietly pleading.

“It’s okay, Donna, I’ll deal with this.” A second voice, male this time, the abrasive edge unmistakeable. I turned round to feel the full benefit of the Leo McGarry glare. “Sam, in my office. Now. Jake, ignore all that stuff about clearing your desk and get back to work.”

He stalked off, leaving me to follow in his wake to the sound of a stunned bullpen resuming its normal activities. The last thing I heard was Donna’s ‘Jake, why don’t you take five minutes and grab a cup of coffee?” as it dawned on me that I may have been a little too impetuous to say the least.

***

The oak door leading to Leo’s office had never looked more forbidding as he swung it open. He didn’t even glance at me until he stood behind his desk, waiting until I’d shut the door before speaking.

“Would you mind explaining to me what exactly was going on out there?” he demanded.

“Leo, he’s the one who’s responsible for Josh nearly dying.” The qualms I’d felt on being ordered into Leo’s office had subsided and been replaced with the conviction that this information in itself justified my actions. “You need to know that.”

“Yeah, I knew that,” he answered.

“What?”

“I knew that.” Leo sat down, but didn’t invite me to do the same. “Jake came to me first thing this morning, told me what had happened and tendered his resignation, which I didn’t accept, of course.”

“You didn’t tell me,” I said lamely.

“Because I wanted to discuss it with Josh first seeing as he’s the one who ended up lying on the floor.” He gestured towards a chair, relenting enough to at least allow me to sit. “And there’s also the small matter that Jake works for Josh.”

“Josh doesn’t remember a thing about it,” I pointed out.

“Sure he does.”

“He doesn’t,” I contradicted him. “When I asked him about it he said he couldn’t remember anything before hearing the fire alarms.”

“And you’re wondering why he told you that?” Leo asked. Despite chewing me out a few minutes ago, he was now wearing the ghost of a grin. He waited until the meaning of his words finally sunk in.

“He knew I’d lose it,” I said wearily.

“You think?” The mock surprise in Leo’s voice only served to underline my discomfiture.

“Then I guess I was a little hasty,” I admitted.

“You also scared the kid almost half to death. Sam, I know you’ve been under a lot of strain but you really should have talked to me about it first.”

“I tried to, at the hospital,” I protested. “Outside Josh’s room, remember?”

“I hadn’t spoken to Josh at that point. You know how he acts if he thinks we’re treating him differently because … well, because he can’t walk.” 

I looked up sharply. With that little hesitation in his voice, Leo had shown a rare glimpse of how much it still affected him to talk about Josh’s disability.

“Josh is gonna kill me,” I said. How many times had we argued about me trying to protect him, fight his corner for him?

“You’re not wrong there. My advice would be to come clean before he hears the gossip about a member of the senior staff beating up on an intern.” He stopped when he caught sight of the look on my face. “Oh, come on, stop looking so tragic. You behaved like a tyrant, but I think I’ve kicked your ass enough for one day. Go see Josh.”

I stood up and made my way to the door. “There’s just one thing I have to do before that.”

Leo raised an eyebrow.

“Apologise to Jake,” I said in answer to his unspoken question.

***

I found the conversation with Jake as difficult as the one with the Brazilian ambassador, but believe me he was a lot more gracious in accepting my apology. I didn’t feel any better at the coolness Donna displayed towards me as she helped me dig out the papers Josh had requested, but I guessed I deserved it. I didn’t stick around any longer than I had to since I’d already decided to take Leo’s advice and come clean with Josh about the afternoon’s debacle. The sooner I got it over with the better.

I arrived at the hospital to find Josh had been moved from the ICU to a regular private room. His cardiologist wasn’t taking any chances, though, as the room was still located in the cardio-thoracic unit. I trudged through the corridors taking in the sight of the surroundings that had become so familiar little more than a year ago. I hoped desperately that Josh’s time there would be a lot shorter on this particular occasion. The thought of him being in the facility was made even more acute by the fact that he was in exactly the same room as previously.

“Déjà vu, huh?” I asked as I stepped into the room.

“Yeah,” Josh sighed. He not only sounded but looked dispirited. A tray on the table in front of him held a half-consumed bowl of soup. He was now toying idly with a dish of Jell-O.

“How’s it going?” I leant down to kiss his cheek.

Josh picked up his spoon and let the Jell-O drop from it back into the bowl. It was a particularly lurid shade of orange. “Okay.”

“It doesn’t sound it,” I said.

“My throat’s sore. It hurts to even eat *this* crap.” Josh finally gave up the attempt, moving restlessly against his pillows. He let out a small groan. “It *all* hurts.”

I brushed back a lock of his hair. Surprisingly, Josh looked more pale and exhausted than this morning, his dark brown eyes contrasting sharply with his pallor.

“Have you told anyone?” I felt my heart quicken. What if he’d suffered an injury that had gone undetected, or maybe there was some sort of delayed effect on his heart or lungs. 

“It’s the hospital’s fault I feel like this,” he grumbled. “I was fine until a physical therapist who must have been trained with the Spanish Inquisition decided to torture me. Damn near coughed up a lung. My ribs hurt like hell, too.”

The carping put my mind at ease somewhat. I tipped my head to one side, adopting an exaggerated listening pose. “Ah, then that explains why it’s so much quieter,” I said. 

“Your point being?” asked Josh, grimacing as he tried to shift himself into a more comfortable position. 

“You’re not wheezing so much,” I replied. And it was true, Josh’s breathing sounded vastly improved from a few hours ago. “Tell you what, why don’t we make you a little more presentable?”

I picked up the sports bag that I had dropped by the side of the bed and began taking out the items I’d packed earlier when I stopped by the apartment. I laid his pyjamas on the bed, followed by his wash bag. I unzipped it and pulled out an electric razor. It occurred to me that I wanted Josh to be in a more settled frame of mind before I told him about my run in with Jake, and figured that sprucing him up would make him feel a whole lot better. 

“Feels a little scratchy,” I said, touching his cheek with the back of my fingers. “Why don’t you let me give you a shave then we’ll get you into your PJs?”

“Sounds good.” At last Josh smiled. “So glad you’re here.”

“Me too.”

I removed my jacket and tie, rolled up my sleeves, unbuttoned my collar. I perched on the edge of the bed and for the next few minutes we were quiet as I concentrated on making Josh clean shaven again. It felt restful to concentrate as I ran the razor over Josh’s face, across the cute little cleft of his chin, along the clean outline of his jaw. I ran my hand lightly across his face.

“That’s more like my gorgeous guy,” I said.

I went over to the washbasin, dampened a washcloth with hot water. I sat back down on the bed, laid a towel across Josh’s chest and gently wiped his face. 

“That’s nice,” he said.

“Mm-hm,” I answered. “Do you want me to help you into your pyjamas or shall I call for the nurse?”

Josh flashed me a dimpled grin. “I’d love you to do it, although there’s something not quite right about you helping me *into* them and not the other way round,” he said.

“Down, boy,” I laughed. “Here, let me help you sit up.”

I put my arm round his shoulder and as gently as I could supported Josh as he sat up. He winced a little and when I removed his hospital gown I could see why. The bruising in the area of his rib cage was livid in colour.

“My God, Josh,” I breathed. “I’m almost frightened to touch you.”

“Oh, please don’t say *that*,” Josh replied.

Gingerly I placed my hand flat against his side, barely touching his skin. I took in a shuddering breath and with my other arm pulled him close. “This is what happens when I’m not there to look out for you,” I whispered. I nuzzled my face against his hair, kissed his cheek lightly. “Come on, let’s get those PJs on,” I said with difficulty. I couldn’t keep the telltale tremor from my voice.

“You okay?” Josh asked quickly. Too quickly. He doesn’t miss a thing.

“Nothing. Just glad to hear you sounding more like your old self,” I said. I picked up the pyjamas and shook out the jacket from its folds. Josh leaned forward and I gently worked the sleeves over his arms. The pants were a little more difficult. It hurt Josh so much to move because of the bruising I had to help him roll from one side to the other just to pull them up over his butt. By the time we’d finished he was breathing so heavily he was evidently relieved to collapse back against the pillows. 

“I should have asked the nurse to do it,” I said worriedly. 

Josh shook his head, gave a small smile. “I don’t think it would have been any easier.”

“Between us we maybe could have lifted you to get your pants on more easily,” I said. 

Josh wrinkled his nose, the expression letting me know how little he liked *that* suggestion. “Apart from you, I hate anyone helping me.”

Eight little words. In the couple of seconds it took Josh to say them the earth kept spinning relentlessly on its axis, stars were created and extinguished, the universe still stretched into infinity. But for me the meaning behind that short statement was bigger than all of that. In relation to the time that had passed since Rosslyn, that moment represented a shift in the balance of mine and Josh’s relationship that was nothing short of cosmic. Usually any help Josh needed was met with resistance, battles and arguments until eventually he‘d give in. Occasionally, that is. But at last, at long last, he was willing to accept what I wanted to give.

“What’d I say?” he asked. “You’ve gone all quiet – what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” I bent my head, concentrating on fastening the buttons on his pyjama jacket, but he brushed my hands away.

“Now that something I *can* do for myself,” he said. He glanced up, his grin taking any potential sting out of his words.

“Okay.” I began putting his belongings into the small closet that formed part of the nightstand. “You need anything? A drink, maybe?”

“Some ice chips would be good,” he answered. “It still feels like I’m swallowing razor blades if I eat or drink.”

“Coming up.” 

I stepped out of Josh’s room, managing to locate a nurse who was able to supply me with a paper cup full of ice chips. When I returned Josh was lying back looking a lot more like his old self. I covered him with the sheet and once again I took my place sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Here.” I dug my fingers in the cup then rubbed some of the ice chips against Josh’s dry lips. His mouth opened slightly. I felt his tongue lightly flick against my fingers. I drew my hand away, bent down and kissed him.

“Nice,” he whispered.

“More?” I asked.

“Ice chips or kisses?” he riposted.

I shrugged. “It’s your call. I know what I’d choose, but … “

He smiled apologetically. “ ‘fraid it’s got to be ice chips. My mouth’s like a desert.”

I obliged.

“Now I’ll have the kisses,” he said.

Again I obliged. 

“I used to long to do this when you were in here last year,” I said when we’d broken the kiss.

Josh took hold of my hand. “I was so lonely for you. This place brings it all back.”

I knew only too well what he meant. At the timeno-one knew we were a couple. We didn’t dare attempt even the smallest of intimacies. But now it was different. I bent forward, kissed him again, felt his lips open against mine. My fingers caressed his neck as I moaned softly.

“Oh, Josh. When Leo and Toby told me what had happened … “

“Shh. It’s over.” Josh’s arm was round me, his hand stroking my back slowly, comfortingly. 

But it wasn’t. Not until I’d come clean about Jake. And it wasn’t just that I wanted to tell Josh before he found out for himself. Jake was a member of his staff and I’d stepped over a line by trying to fire him. 

“Josh.” I pulled myself out of his embrace. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

I stood up, moved one of the visitor’s chairs close to the bed and sat down. I wanted a little physical space between us because to a degree this conversation was between two members of the senior staff rather than two lovers.

“Yeah? What is it?” Josh wasn’t looking at me as he leaned over to pick up the paper cup. He extricated some ice chips before lifting his head up to meet my gaze. Immediately I could see his expression change from relaxed to worried. “Oh, no, what have you done?”

“Okay, first of all let me say that this might never have happened if Leo had put me straight right from the start.” 

“Sam … “ If he hadn’t had such a sore throat Josh’s voice would have been getting a little louder. As it was, it still managed to sound menacing.

“Here’s the thing … I know what happened. I know why you ended up on the floor in the corridor,” I stated flatly.

Josh just stared back at me, raised an eyebrow as if to say “So what?” which just made me feel angry all over again. 

“And I might also add that what happened wouldn’t have happened if you yourself had been a little more truthful.“ This wasn’t going the way I wanted. I’d intended this conversation to be clinical, unemotional, and already Josh was making me go on the defensive.

“And just what *did* happen, sweetheart?” Josh folded his arms across his chest, gave me a little smile that only made me feel more annoyed. It was especially irksome that he’d deployed one of his favorite weapons: the sarcastic use of an endearment.

“Jake told me he’d moved your wheelchair across the room, hadn’t put it back next to the bed, I yelled at him and told him he was fired.” 

“And this happened … when?” Josh asked, his voice ominously calm and contained.

“A couple of hours ago.” I’d gone this far I decided he might as well know everything about the whole ugly incident. “In the middle of the operations bullpen.”

“So you fired a junior member of staff in front of half the West Wing, a member of staff, I might add, who’d already had the cojones to tender his resignation to the White House Chief of Staff?”

“I didn’t know that at the time … “

“An intern who reports to Donna, who in turn reports to me?”

“Well, yes, I know that …”

“Sam, as one of the most literate people I know, I’m sure you’re familiar with the term from the sublime to the ridiculous?”

“What?” 

“It’s the only phrase I can think of that describes an individual who’ll pick a fight with both the President of Brazil and a White House intern within the space of forty-eight hours. What’s the matter with you, Sam - you punched above your weight with Afonso so you decided you could get a knock out with someone weaker than you?”

That hurt and Josh was well aware it would. I bent my head and when I spoke my voice was low.

“It could have been avoided, Josh. It was a stupid mistake that could have killed you and maybe Mike as well. I was angry and upset and all I could think was that if I’d lost you it would have been because of some careless intern who should have taken better care of you.” 

“Like you say, it was a mistake Sam. Jake didn’t do it on purpose and he wasn’t there to take care of me. Look at me.” 

Reluctantly I lifted my head. With a sudden movement Josh pushed back the sheet. 

“These don’t work.” He slapped his hand - hard - against his right leg. I winced inside. 

He stretched out his hands, his palms turned upwards. “But these do.”

He tapped his forehead. “And this does.” 

“I don’t … “ I began.

“So I don’t need someone there as a carer. *I* should have realised Jake hadn’t moved the wheelchair back, but I didn’t. So I was just as responsible for what happened as he was. More, actually.” He shook his head. “You were wrong for yelling at him, Sam. And you sure as hell shouldn’t have fired him. You do realize I‘ll only reinstate him? If he‘ll even come back, that is. I can‘t say I‘d blame him if he told us all to go to hell.”

“Don’t worry, he’s still there. Donna tried to stop me then Leo walked in and heard it all. Told Jake to get back to work.” 

“Thank God. Leo chewed you out, I take it?”

“Oh, yes,” I agreed. “And I apologised to Jake.”

“Good,” Josh said shortly. 

“I don’t blame you for being mad at me,” I admitted. 

To my surprise Josh laughed softly, captured my hand in his. “You’re lucky I’m in no fit state to yell.”

I pressed Josh’s hand to my lips. “I was so angry with Jake, but … he was so upset and now I just feel ashamed.”

“What’s happening, Sam?” Josh’s voice was puzzled. “You never used to blow your stack like this, but this is twice in as many days. You’re not still punishing me over David, are you?”

I felt like someone had thrown cold water over me. 

“Punishing you?” Is that what I’d been doing, I thought.

“You spoke to Afonso after David turned up at the dinner - I know you were mad at me then. I thought maybe your run in with Jake was more of the same. You couldn‘t yell at me lying here but you could yell at him.”

“No, Josh, no.” I squeezed his hand as if to emphasise my words. “I don’t have any reason to punish you … do I?”

Josh gave me a long look. “You should know the answer to that without having to ask the question.”

I pushed back my chair and covered Josh’s legs before sitting back down on the bed as close to him as I could get. I kissed him gently. 

“Well that’s good enough for me,” I said. 

But despite Josh’s assurances, the mention of David Strachan had brought all my fears bubbling back to the surface. Like some nebulous thing seen out of the corner of my eye, the unresolved issue remained of just how close he’d gotten to Josh. 

I opened my mouth to speak but the sight of Josh smiling drowsily made me stay silent. I held onto his hand and watched as his eyes grew heavy until sleep claimed him. 

I needed to know the truth, but not now. For the time being I was just thankful that Josh was safe and that whatever happened between him and David Strachan I had to believe I was the man he really loved.

***  
Everything was fine – we were fine – me and Josh. I repeated the words over and over in my head.

I turned over, closed my eyes, willed myself to fall asleep.

“You’re not still punishing me over David, are you?”

My eyes sprang open, Josh’s words chasing themselves round and round my head.

Why that question? Guilty conscience?

I turned my pillow over, the cotton cool against my cheek.

I forced myself to focus on the time we’d spent together, just a few short hours before.

The kisses.

Josh’s touch, his fingers against my skin.

The sweet words.

“Apart from you, I hate anyone helping me.”

I smiled into the darkness at the recollection.

But … 

I remembered when Josh had said Strachan had helped him … helped him after the interview … the day I saw them together in the mess, Strachan’s hand on Josh’s shoulder 

The answer phone message about New York.

What was it they’d had? 

Or was it still there?

A platonic friendship?

A mild flirtation?

Something deeper than that? 

Impossible. Josh had been so loving, clung to me … he wants me … he needs me … 

But what if? What if I’m wrong? What if he’s deceiving me? What if it was this latest trauma that scared him so much into needing *me*?

What if he still harbored thoughts of David Strachan?

Oh, God … 

The relentless, bitter cycle was suddenly halted by the sound of the phone ringing.

Almost twenty-four hours ago I was alerted about the fire. Now Josh was in hospital …

No, please no, let him be all right …

“Sam Seaborn.” I could hardly catch my breath sufficient to allow me to speak.

“It’s me.” Josh’s voice was husky. Hesitant. “Did I wake you?”

“Josh. What’s wrong?” At the sound of his voice I’d shot up in bed. If I’d stopped to think I would have realised that if there was something seriously amiss with Josh one of the hospital personnel would have contacted me.

“Couldn’t sleep.” 

Then there was silence. All I could hear was the faint sound of Josh’s breathing filling the silence and the distance between us.

“What is it, baby?”

“Err … I … “ I could hear a muffled sniffling noise. “I was dreaming about the fire, and every time I close my eyes all I can see are smoke and flames. Sam, I don’t know if it’s Camp David I’m remembering or when Joanie died or … or a combination of both. I’m sorry I woke you … I just needed to hear your voice.”

And in that moment any doubts I’d had about Josh’s feelings towards me disappeared like the sun dissipating the early morning mist.

I pushed back the sheet. “I’m coming down there.”

“It’s 11:00 at night. You know they only allow relatives to visit after hours if the patient’s critical.”

Of course I remembered. The first couple of days after the shooting Josh’s mother was allowed in any time, day or night. But that was during those crucial forty-eight hours after his surgery. This was different. Compared to that, Josh was now in the best of health. But I could hear a heart rending little break in his voice. It tore me up inside to imagine him distressed by yet another traumatic experience. Josh was strong, stronger than I could ever hope to be, but how much more could he take? Given that, I wasn’t letting a little thing like hospital protocol stop me, nor even the scariest of nurses.

I jammed the receiver between my chin and shoulder as I found the jeans I’d draped over a chair. 

“Put the phone down, sweetheart,” I instructed as I rummaged in the drawer for a tee-shirt. Despite the fact it was the middle of the night, the temperature was in the high sixties as Washington sweltered through a heat wave that had lasted over a week.

“Don’t, Sam, I shouldn’t have called … They won’t let you in. “

“I’ll think of something.” .” I bent down, trying – unsuccessfully – to put my jeans on one handed. “ Josh, I’m putting the phone down now so I can get dressed.”

“I know this is a really big thing to ask, Sam, but you won’t tell anyone the real reason I need to see you? I’m scared it gets out that I’m going crazy or something.”

“Promise.”

“What would I do without you?”

There was a click as Josh hung up the phone without waiting for a reply. I allowed myself a small smile as I continued dressing, then I rooted around in my briefcase for a couple of items before grabbing my car keys and hurrying from the apartment.

***

“Visiting ended three hours … “ the nurse standing guard at the entrance to the ward glanced down at her watch, “three hours and eighteen minutes ago.”

I always appreciate attention to detail, but that was taking pedantry a step too far. Despite that, I managed to smile in a way that I hoped was just charming enough without being ingratiating. “Yes, I know, but Josh isn’t so sick that it’s going to do him any harm if I just step in for a little while.”

“That’s just the point,” she said. “It’s only when patients are very sick that we relax the rules.”

One point to her. “Look, as you know Josh is Deputy Chief of Staff to the White House and a Senior Adviser to the President.” I held up the folder I’d brought with me. The Presidential seal was printed on the cover, along with the designation Restricted – Highly Confidential. “There’s some really important state business I need to get his opinion on.”

“Mr Lyman should be asleep by now.” The nurse stepped to one side to allow a porter and a nurse pushing a gurney to step inside. I considered diving in behind them but she was too quick as she moved back to lean one hand on the doorframe, effectively barring my path. However, was it my imagination or was she weakening somewhat?

“He rang me at eleven o’clock, I mentioned some urgent piece of work I was involved in and he insisted I bring it over. We really do need his input.”

She shifted slightly, let her arm drop. “Can’t it wait until morning?”

“Well … “ I drew the word out so she could hear my reluctance, “the thing is, I’m working on an eight am deadline with this thing. We don’t work nine till five in the White House.”

“Nor do we,” she said.

Damn, but she was good.

“And we can do without visitors arriving at all hours disturbing our schedule, but … “ She stepped back, inviting me to step onto the ward. “Since it’s important matters of state, I’ll give you an hour.”

“Thank you,” I said gratefully.

“I mean it. If you’re still here in an hour’s time I’ll personally eject you from the premises.”

“You have my word.”

She nodded, letting me continue on my way to Josh’s room.

I found Josh lying on his side, facing the door. I don’t know what I’d been expecting to see – tears, Josh curled up in a foetal position – but there was none of that. He even managed a smile as he stretched his arm out towards me. The now unwanted folder was tossed to one side as I pulled my chair as near to the bed as I could get it. 

“The dragon lady out there as given me an hour. How are you doing?” I asked. I pushed my fingers gently through Josh’s hair, hoping the sensation would calm him a little.

“Better now,” he said.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” I assumed it would do Josh good to unload some of the images and feelings that had been tormenting him.

But surprisingly, he shook his head sharply. “Just talk to me, Sam. Talk about anything.”

So for the next hour I talked about work, what I had lined up for the next day and when I’d exhausted that I moved on to what we’d do to celebrate Josh getting out of hospital and when I’d wrung every possibility out of *that* I went on to one of Josh’s favorite subjects: how we’d make a play for the White House in a few years time. I’d only just got us through the primaries when I saw my hour was nearly up.

“I’ll have to make a move, babe,” I said. “I’ve got a feeling that nurse could think of some nifty things to do with a scalpel if she finds I lied about coming here to discuss state business.”

I picked up the file, showed Josh what it contained.

Josh chuckled quietly. “Sam Seaborn, Master of Deception,” he said.

“Absolutely. “ I bent down and we kissed. “You’ll be okay?”

“You bet. Call me in the morning - maybe they’ll let me go home tomorrow.”

“Sleep well.” I lingered at the door, reluctant to leave.

“You too. Love you, Sam.”

“Love you more,” I answered.

I shut the door quietly behind me and almost fell over the nurse who’d let me in.

“I’m impressed. I thought I’d have to come and throw you out. All done?” she asked, gesturing towards the file.

“Yes … yes, thanks,” I said, waving it in front of me. “Thanks, I apprecuate it.” 

I walked through the exit door, turned back at the sound of the nurse’s voice.

“By the way,” she called, “next time you come in to conduct any more affairs of state, I’d check the contents of your file first.”

I looked down and there, sticking out of the file, was the top of the New Yorker magazine I’d secreted there.

***

I got to bed at one, rose at five.

I yawned all through a seven am meeting with the President and the senior staff, so much so that he insisted I drink three cups of black coffee.

I spent the next couple of hours wired on caffeine.

By ten I was flagging again, not helped by the losing battle the ancient White House air conditioning was fighting with the continuing heat wave, fell asleep at my desk, almost had a heart attack when Toby bounced a rubber ball through the doorway and against the wall behind me.

But I didn’t care. 

Coming so close to losing Josh had reminded me how much we loved and needed each other. It had forced me to take a good look at myself. Those things I’d seen and heard, imagined even … intimate conversations, an arm round a shoulder, arrangements for a meeting in New York … there was nothing sinister in them. They were just something I’d distorted through the lens of my own jealousy.

So nothing to confront Josh about.

Because Josh and me … we were good.

***

Still reeling from Toby’s wake up call, I dialled the number of Josh’s hospital room. 

“ ‘Morning, gorgeous,” I greeted him.

“Sam.” His voice was low, despondent. “They won’t let me come home until tomorrow.”

I felt a little stab of disappointment and concern, but kept my voice light. “Well, I guess they just want to make sure there aren’t any problems. After all, the doctor did say a couple of days. There *aren’t* any problems, are there?”

“No,” Josh said exasperatedly. “I need to have a couple more sessions with the physical therapist.”

“Well, it’s a pain in the ass, but I’m glad they’re being so careful. You don’t want to risk a chest infection,”I pointed out. 

I looked up to see Donna standing in the doorway, an enquiring look on her face. I gestured to her to come in and sit down.

“It’s ridiculous! My chest is fine, I don’t *need* some Amazon jumping up and down on my back to make me cough up green crap. And another thing … “ Josh’s voice was no longer low and despondent, but his rant was interrupted by a noisy coughing fit.

“I rest my case,” I said smugly. I covered the receiver with my hand. “They’re keeping him in another day for physical therapy.”

“Ask him if there’s anything they can do for his temper while they’re about it,” Donna replied.

“I can hear every word,” Josh said. “You know, that covering up the mouthpiece with your hand thing doesn’t really work.”

“You’ll be home tomorrow. It’s Friday and I’m staying home the whole weekend. Barring fire, flood or international incident the government can do without me for two days.”

“Oh. Good. Well, that’s something, I guess … no, wait, as long as we’re on track chasing up those votes for the amendment to the Finance Bill …”

“It’s all in hand,” I said. “As a matter of fact, it’s because of that I won’t be able to make it in to see you tonight.”

“That’s okay, so long as you or Toby make sure you pin down Leland and Vazey, ‘cos you know how much clout they’ve got with … “

Again I interrupted him. “I’m meeting with them today,” I assured him.

“Don’t mess this up, Sam,” he said warningly. He must be feeling better, I decided.

“I won’t.”I didn’t resent his words. I understood his concerns. Normally he would have met with these two key senators, but his original Camp David commitments had resulted in the job being staffed out to me. 

“I know you won’t,” he sighed. “I’m sorry about … well, you know.”

“Josh, I know you would rather be knocking heads together yourself, but just concentrate on getting well.” I looked over at Donna, who was mouthing ‘I’ll go visit him.’

“Listen Josh, Donna will see you tonight. Can she bring you anything?”

“Something to read.”

“Consider it done.”

“Is Donna still there?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Let me speak with her.”

I handed her the phone, watching as she grabbed a pen and Post-Its from my desk. Donna scribbled busily, pulled off the three Post-Its she’d covered then scurried away, but not before I’d managed to catch a glimpse of what she’d written.

“When you said something to read I thought you meant a novel or a magazine,” I said.

“How long have you known me, Sam?” Josh asked.

“Just don’t overdo it.”

“Sam, I’m lying here in bed, I haven’t even got a wheelchair I can use – how the hell am I going to overdo *anything*?”

“Can’t they lend you a wheelchair?”

“Yeah, they’re going to let me get out of bed later after I’ve had my back thumped. I need my own wheels, though – these hospital jobs aren’t exactly built for speed. I’ll need some clothes too.”

“Already done,” I said. “I packed some stuff and brought it in with me – I’ll give it to Donna.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” Josh replied gratefully.

“Hang on a minute.” I laid the phone down momentarily while I closed my office door. “How were you last night after I left? Did you get some sleep?”

“I was fine. Who needs sedatives when they can listen to you?”

“Hey!” I protested, “I resent that! You were the one asked me to talk to you.”

“Down, boy. I meant it in a good way. You relaxed me. It was … “ his voice dropped into a lower register, “ … soothing. I’ll get you to soothe me some more when I’m back home, but not by talking.”

I leaned back in my chair, slid my hand over my groin, down to where I could feel myself stiffening, then removed it regretfully. I loved it when Josh got all intimate over the phone, but it also did things to me that couldn’t be satisfied until I was back in the privacy of my own home.

“Josh, I think you’d better stop right there,” I whispered.

“You’re no fun,” he breathed.

“Just you wait.”

“You’re such a tease … Oh, Becca, hi.” Suddenly Josh’s voice rose a couple of octaves as he attempted to bring it back to normal and as a result ended up over compensating. “Becca’s here to torture me.”

“Love you, babe,” I said as huskily as I could.

“Mmm, yeah, me too.” 

I sniggered to myself at the sound of Josh trying to sound matter of fact. I put the phone down.

Yes, Josh and me … *definitely* good. 

***

The next day was more stifling than ever, but instead of the sun blazing in the blue sky, for much of the day it shone out opaquely under cover of a gauzy mist. The atmosphere in the White House was lethargic as the staff wilted in the heat and meetings were shot through with odd bursts of short temper and irritability. It seemed as if I was the only person who wasn’t affected as my buoyant mood vitalized me into digging deep to find the energy levels that enabled me to complete task after task and guarantee myself a relatively early finish. Even the fact that this meant I’d still be hard at work in the West Wing until early evening didn’t diminish my good mood. Josh had called me mid-morning to say he’d be returning home that afternoon and no, he didn’t need anyone to see him safely into the apartment as he was absolutely fine. This despite the fact that the hospital had insisted on him travelling home by an ambulance equipped with an elevator to prevent the strain on his bruised and aching muscles that transferring from wheelchair to car and vice versa would have caused. Nonetheless I breathed a little easier when he rang me some time after three to say he was home.

As the afternoon segued into evening the sky had grown markedly darker, so much so that by four o’ clock lights had begun appearing in offices and bullpens. Reports began coming in of a tropical storm just off the Carolinas, while dark clouds looking like indigo marshmallows piled up in the eastern sky signified that we’d be receiving the tail-end of it. As I stepped out of the White House the sound of the traffic was muffled by a blanket of humidity and the atmosphere all but crackled with the static electricity of a nascent storm. I turned my car’s air con up to maximum and as I turned into the stream of motor vehicles I thought longingly of what lay ahead: a cold beer, cooling shower and, best of all, Josh.

Parking the car I glanced up to the window of mine and Josh’s living room, surprised that in the deepening gloom no light shone out. As I let myself into the apartment there was no sound - no TV, no music - so I guessed that he was in the bedroom taking a nap.

“Josh?”

No answer. I pushed open the bedroom door. No Josh. He wasn’t in the bathroom, so I checked the kitchen.

No Josh.

Surely he hadn’t gone out?

I walked into the hall, discarding the jacket that I’d slung over my shoulder, went into the living room to see Josh sitting there, his head bent as if deep in thought.

“Josh, didn’t you hear me?” I asked. I didn’t wait for a response, but knelt down next to him, kissed his cheek. “Welcome home, babe. Hey, you got your own wheelchair back.”

“It’s not the only thing I got back,” he said. 

It was then that I became aware that he hadn’t even turned to look at me, that in fact he may have drawn away from me as I kissed him. 

“Josh?”

I looked down to see that Josh was holding his cell phone, the small screen glowing blue in the semi-darkness.

“When were you going to tell me, Sam?”

Something wasn’t right. I suddenly felt cold, my skin clammy under my shirt that was clinging to me damply in the humidity.

“Tell you what, Josh? For God’s sake, what‘s wrong?”

He pushed a button on the cell phone before thrusting it at me.

“Listen to it. Don’t tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

I took the phone, pressed it to my ear. The first thing I heard was an anonymous female voice announcing voice mail. Then … 

“I know there’s something going on with you and Strachan, Josh. I don‘t know if it‘s just a fling or whether you‘re in love with him. Whatever … “ 

I fell away from Josh to sit back on my heels as I listened to my own voice slurring its drunken message. Until then, of all the things that had been seared on my memory over the last couple of days, my angry, wine fueled rantings had disappeared into a temporary, alcohol induced amnesia. 

“I thought it might happen one day.” Josh’s voice pulled me back into the present. “But I always imagined you’d have the guts to tell me the real reason.”

“What?” I asked dully. I could barely compute what was happening without Josh throwing this extra puzzle at me.

“Me. You. One disabled partner, one able bodied. It puts a strain on a relationship.” At last Josh looked at me. His face was pale and drawn as it was fleetingly lit up by a sudden flicker of lightning. “But I didn’t think you’d use my friendship with David as an excuse.”

Something inside me stirred. The rational arguments I’d recently applied to Josh’s relationship with Strachan, the conclusions I’d arrived at that put the blame firmly on my own paranoia - they all disappeared. I was right back where I started when I’d left that message in the early hours of Wednesday morning. The old familiar feeling of jealousy flared up hotter, more acrid than ever.

“Excuse? The times I saw the two of you together … in the mess, playing basketball … you’ve been getting a little physical in case you hadn’t noticed.” I stood up, looked down at Josh. “It was all a little more real than an excuse.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me, Sam? Look at me and tell me *now*.” Josh made a grab for my arm as I turned away. I shook it off impatiently.

“We need some light … I can’t have this conversation in the dark,” I said. I switched on a couple of lamps. Thunder growled in the distance. I looked over at Josh who just stared back at me as if he was in a state of shock.

“You made that phone call in the middle of the night,” he said. “Why wait until then? Was it because you had to get *drunk* to pluck up the courage?”

“You really don’t have a clue, do you?” I went over to the answer machine and pressed a button. Finally I found what I was looking for.

“Hi, Josh. Thought I might catch you, but you must be at Camp David in your very important meeting.”

By the time the message had played out Josh was staring, bemused.

“So, Josh … when were *you* going to tell *me*?”  
“Tell you what?” he asked.

“About your romantic assignation at the Times Square Hilton?”

“Because I wanted it to be a surprise.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the statement. “What?”

“I planned to tell you the day before.”

“You planned to tell me the day before you were due to travel to New York to be with … him? What sort of sick game is that?” I felt like I was seeing a whole new Josh, a Josh who was suddenly taking pleasure in playing sadistic mind games.

“Sam … I was planning to take *you* to New York.”

“What?” I asked faintly. I sat down heavily on the couch feeling like my legs wouldn’t hold me up.

“David asked me to go and see the first cut of the documentary when he finished editing it, and I thought we could have a weekend in New York at the same time. I’ve cleared it with Leo and Toby so we can leave work on the twentieth - it’s a Friday - and travel back late Sunday.” He pressed his lips together, ran his hand through his hair. I realised he was close to tears.

“Oh, God… Josh, I didn’t know … I thought …” 

What could I say? I’d made the most horrendous mistake and who knew what irreparable damage I’d done? As if in answer, at that moment there was a dazzling flash of lightning almost simultaneously accompanied by a deafening crack of thunder, the whole hectic combination chiming nicely with the chaos of my thoughts.

“It was going to be some ’us’ time,” Josh went on. “We could do a museum or two, I’ve booked that new Stoppard play and I thought we could go somewhere nice for dinner … Tavern on the Green, maybe … “ 

“Stop it, Josh, just stop it.” I couldn’t bear it. All the things I liked doing … museums, the theater … all for me. And all the time I’d been silently accusing Josh of cheating on me. I stood up, once more dropped on my knees next to Josh. “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry.”

I touched his hand but he drew it away.

“No.”

“Josh, please, can’t we talk? I want to put this right,” I said. 

He shook his head. “I can’t. Not now. I need to think.”

“Josh, please,” I pleaded. “I know I was wrong. I misread so much, but if I could just explain … “

“You didn’t trust me, Sam. You thought I was capable of commiting adultery.” He took a sharp breath as if the very thought caused him pain. “I know we’re not married in the eyes of the law, but that’s what you were accusing me of. Adultery.”

He pushed himself away from me.

“I’m tired,” he said. ”I’m going to bed.” He turned away without a backward glance.

“I think I should sleep in the guest room,” I said. 

“Maybe that would be best.”

After he’d left the room I stayed kneeling on the floor until I managed to summon up the strength to move to the couch. I curled myself up in the corner, my arms wrapped across my chest. I watched the storm as it raged outside. Still no rain, just an electrical storm, frightening in its intensity. I thought about the mess I’d made of things, and the inevitable scenario played itself out in my head. I’d move to the guest room until the effort of Josh and I avoiding each other in our own home became intolerable. Then I’d relocate to a hotel, maybe a new apartment. Work would be a series of polite exchanges as we went about the business of government. Then that situation would also become untenable, until one of us decided that staying on in the White House was impossible. And natural justice dictated that that person would be me.

I sat there, numb, and I knew that Josh and I were finished.

*** 

At last I decided that I really needed to shower and change. I was hot, sticky and felt soiled, both inside and out. I dragged myself out into the hallway towards the guest bedroom and bathroom, but as I passed mine and Josh’s room - or was it now just Josh’s room? - I heard a noise that sounded like a moan, followed by his voice.

“Son of a bitch.”

“Josh?” I asked tentatively. I pushed open the door.

Josh was still sitting in his wheelchair, but awkwardly, as if I’d interrupted him in the process of getting into bed.

“Josh, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I’m okay.” He kept his eyes averted.

“You don’t look okay and you certainly didn’t sound okay,” I pointed out. 

He drew in a breath and rubbed his hand over his eyes. “I can’t get onto the bed - my side hurts and so does my chest with all the coughing.”

“You want me to help?” I offered, almost fearfully, expecting a rebuff. Which, of course, I got.

“No … I‘m fine.”

“Josh, you can’t sit there all night. You look exhausted and if you don’t rest up you’ll not be well enough to go back to work.” I stepped further into the room. “I can lift you onto the bed.”

Josh looked at me skeptically.

“Please - let me prove all those hours at the gym weren’t wasted,” I joked feebly, although it didn’t raise a smile from either of us.

Josh shrugged as if giving up the fight. “Whatever.”

“Can I move you away from the bed, give me some space?” I asked.

He nodded, so I maneuvered Josh and his wheelchair to a position that would give me enough room to get him onto the bed once I’d picked him up. I put one arm round his back, the other under his knees.

“Put your arm around my neck and let me do the rest,” I ordered.

Without a word Josh complied. Fortunately he’s not overweight, so it was with only a little effort that I lifted him and walked over to the bed wiuth him in my arms. I could feel his breath against my neck, his hair brushing against my face as I held him. It was agony for me, having him so close but knowing that at that moment he wanted anything but intimacy between us. I lowered him as gently as I could onto the bed. 

“Thanks,” he said.

“No worries. I didn’t hurt you?” I asked.

“No. I’m good.”

I hesitated. “Um … do you need anything else?” I wnted to ask him if he needed any assistance undressing, but I kept it vague in case he thought I had an ulterior motive.

“No thanks.” 

“Can I get you anything? Something to eat? A drink?”

“I’ve got some water. I don’t want anything else.”

“Right.” I moved the wheelchair next to the bed, mindful of recent events. “I just need to get some clothes.”

“Help yourself.”

I grabbed some sweats from the drawer, turning back towards the room as I opened the door.

“Goodnight, then,” I said.

“ ‘night.”

Once more Josh wasn’t looking at me as he concentrated on unbuttoning his shirt. Without another word I left the room. I went into the guest bathroom and turned on the water as hot as I could bear until at last I felt clean.

***  
The thought of eating anything made me feel nauseous, as did my earlier yearning for a beer, besides which alcohol had gotten me into enough trouble already. I pulled on my sweats, deciding I couldn’t face anything other than going to bed, even if I couldn’t sleep. I trudged back into the bathroom, then realised not only that I didn’t have my toothbrush but that there wasn‘t even any toothpaste there. I hated the thought of going to bed without brushing, so I knocked softly on the master bedroom door, expecting Josh to be asleep, but he was lying with his hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling.

“I forgot my toothbrush,” I explained. “Do you mind if I brush my teeth here?”

He shook his head but all the time his eyes were fixed on the ceiling. I brushed my teeth as quickly as I could and made my way as quietly as I could out of the bedroom. I’d just got to the door when Josh spoke.

“Sam.”

I stopped, gripping the door handle a little tighter. “Yeah?”

“You’re right. We should talk.”

I was stock still. I hardly dared turn around. “Now?”

“Yes.”

I moved over to the chair that sat in the corner.

“No, not there,” said Josh. He patted the bed. “Here. Please.”

I sat down on my side of the bed, pulled my legs up so that my head rested on my knees, face angled towards the window.

“Sam, I need you to listen … hear me out,” Josh began. I didn’t answer, but taking that as consent he pressed on. “I know I’ve been spending a lot of time with David … “ 

I gave an involuntary little laugh.

“Please … I’m trying to explain,” Josh said.

“Go on.”

“I mean, some of it was unavoidable because of the documentary, but like I told you it was helpful to talk to someone who’d had a similar experience to me. Not the same exactly, but the consequences were similar.” 

He stopped. I felt the mattress move as he shifted a little, but still I didn’t look at him. I knew that if I did I would lose all control, would find it impossible to sit there letting him explain.

“Anyway, that was part of it. But the other thing was that it was someone other than you to offload my feelings onto … someone else to unburden myself to.”

This time I couldn’t resist responding. “Thanks,” I said bitterly. “And all this time I thought I’d helped, that I’d been there when you needed someone to listen.”

“I know. And that was starting to scare me.”

“So much so that David was forced to put a comforting arm around you?” I spat back.

“When?”

Finally I allowed myself to look at Josh. He always does find it difficult to mask what he’s really feeling and there was no way he was faking that puzzled look on his face.

“The day you filmed the interview … I saw you both in the mess sitting side by side … “

“Well first of all it was the only table that was free and second of all if you’d looked more closely you’d have seen that the other side of the table was nearest the wall. There was no way David could get his wheelchair there without moving the table and a couple of chairs. It was easier to sit side by side.”

Suddenly that seemed to make sense. However …

“He had his arm around you, Josh.”

Josh closed his eyes. He looked like he was visualizing the scene all over again. Then he gazed at me for a few long seconds.

“He *was* comforting me.”

“I knew it.” I threw my head back against the headboard, and this time it was my turn to close my eyes.

“Which brings me to the other reason for the time I spent talking to David,” he said. 

“And that would be?” I asked wearily.

“You.”

If I’d been walking it would have stopped me dead in my tracks. As it was, it had the result of making my eyes spring open and rendering me speechless. Seeing a brief window of opportunity that he wasn’t about to be interrupted again, Josh seized his chance.

“Of *course* you’re always there when I need to talk. Of *course* you always listen. Of *course* you’re the most caring, supportive and sensitive lover anyone anywhere could ever wish for … “

Oh, God, I thought, he’s using the present tense.

“And that’s why I was scared,” Josh continued. “I was scared that one day you’d have had enough, that there’d come a time when you wanted a simple, uncomplicated relationship. One where you didn’t need to deal with all the hang ups that I come with.”

“You think I’d just up and leave?” I asked.

Josh laughed softly. “No. That’s the problem. I … I have these dark moments … not often, but when they happen I can’t help imagining what could happen.”

“What do you imagine, Josh?”

“That you’d be too loyal, have too much integrity to just leave me. And that’s when I see it destroy us until the only option I have is to set you free.” 

My head drooped downwards. I couldn’t bear to look at Josh because I knew exactly what I’d see. I knew because I’d heard that self same tone of voice in the first few days of his time in the rehabilitation hospital. That was when he’d tried to convince me to cut myself loose because he didn’t want me sacrificing my own happiness for him. And while he’d said it with quiet determination, the look in his eyes said something different, because he couldn’t hide the pain and desperation in them. 

“It’s the truth, Sam, you have to believe me.”

“I do.” My voice was muffled.

“Then why don’t you sound convinced?” Josh sighed.

I lifted my head. I could hear the thunder rumbling above us and despite the storm the air was still thick and humid. It seemed to thrum not only with an electrical charge but also with the things that still remained unsaid.

“It’s not just the conversations you had, it’s the little things you seemed to prefer doing with him.” 

“Like what?”

“Well, like … “I was aware of how childish I would sound, but since Josh was forcing the issue what choice did I have? And anyway, it’s the small, everyday things that lovers share that can assume as much or even more significance than the occasional moments of grand passion. “Like I saw you playing basketball.”

“God, Sam, why would that rankle so much?” Josh asked.

“You could have asked me … I’d have shot hoops with you.” I’d been genuinely surprised when I saw him that day with Strachan. I knew Josh had played basketball as part of his rehabilitation, but once he left the hospital I assumed he was happy to take all his exercise in the gym. “I just didn’t think you were interested. “

“No, I guess you didn’t,” he said quietly, but there was something in the tone of his voice that made me take notice. I thought about all the times a few of us – sometimes even the President – had got together for a game.

“Josh, every time any of us arranged to play you were either in a meeting or finishing some urgent piece of work … “ I stopped as things started to fall into place. “Are you saying that was deliberate?”

“Face it, Sam, it saved all of you the embarrassment of feeling you had to ask me if I wanted to play,” he answered matter of factly. “You wouldn’t want to run around making allowances for a wheelchair user.”

If anyone had asked me at that moment what the dominant emotion was that I was feeling, I couldn’t have answered them. Shame, sadness, bewilderment: you name it, I was experiencing it. 

“You never said,” I finally managed to say.

“You never asked,” Josh replied.

We sat, staring at each other, neither of us moving, neither of us talking. The silence was palpable until I heard the rain start to patter against the window, gradually at first until it turned into a torrent. Then something else happened, something that if I’d read it in a book or seen it in a film I would have laughed at as the most banal of images. At the exact same time as the rain began to fall, I found myself crying like I would never stop. Because I was crying not just for me, but for Josh and for the whole sorry state of affairs. But most of all I was crying for something that had been good and fine and now seemed to be so damaged as to be irretrievable. I buried my face in my hands, desperately trying to control myself, but with little success.

“Don’t cry because you pity me, Sam,” Josh said. He sounded unbelievably calm and composed. “This is exactly why I keep some things to myself. I can bear anything except your pity.”

“Oh, God,” I gulped. I stared up at the ceiling. “It’s anything but pity. I’m ashamed, I’m sad, I’m angry with myself, but don’t you *ever* think that I pity you.”

I stopped to wipe my sleeve across my eyes, managed to catch my breath. It all seemed so hopeless. Was this what they meant when they talked about a heart breaking, this feeling of being emotionally ripped apart?

“I’ll pack my things,” I managed to say. “I can be out of here in an hour.”

I didn’t have a clue where I would go, but I could decide that once I was standing out on the sidewalk. I took a deep breath, trying to summon up the strength to get off the bed. Then I felt Josh touch my arm.

“Come here,” he said.

I froze. I couldn’t imagine it was anything more than Josh wanting to make sure I was okay before I left. I squeezed my eyes shut.

“Don’t, Josh. Just let me go. Don’t make this any more difficult than it already is.” I drew in a shuddering breath. “It’s over. *We’re* over.”

“Come *here*,” he said more insistently. Something in the tone of his voice made my heart jump a little. The touch of his hand was warm through my sleeve. 

“Please,” he said in little more than a whisper. 

I opened my eyes, the tears still trickling down my face. Josh was looking at me so intently I couldn’t refuse his demand.

“Oh, Josh … “

I rolled over towards him, then all at once my head was lying against his chest, I was being held in his arms and his cheek was resting against my hair. If this was merely intended as some sort of final act of comfort before we split up, then it seemed to be way more loving than I would have expected. Or deserved.

“Don’t,” I said as he pulled me even closer. “I’ll hurt you … you’re still bruised.”

“Shh.” Josh held me tight, dropped a kiss on my temple. “It’s all right - I’m fine. I don’t want you to go anywhere … ever.”

“I’ve been such a bastard, a jealous, irrational …. “

“Stop it.” Josh pressed a finger against my lips. “All the time I was lying here I was going back over everything … right from day one when Dav … when Strachan turned up.”

I lifted my head sharply when I heard Josh refer to my bete noir by his surname the way I always did, like he wanted to let me know that their relationship was anything but personal. 

“I must have been blind,” he went on. “I couldn’t even *see* what it was doing to you, I was so wrapped up in my own issues. No wonder you thought what you did.” 

I fondled Josh‘s arm, turned my head to press a kiss on his chest. “How could I even doubt you?” I asked. “How could I have been so stupid?”

“Because I was so insensitive as to think you’d look at my friendship with Strachan the way I did. Just two people with a shared experience but little else in common.” 

“I keep thinking about that voice mail … if you’d heard it, if Mike hadn’t got you out of the fire … if the worst had happened it might have been the last thing you heard me say, before … before … “ The tears started again , but I felt spent, exhausted. I could hear myself whimpering weakly.

“Sam, let it go. Please. You did it in the heat of the moment. I’d probably have reacted the same way if someone left a message for you the way Strachan did.” Josh stroked my back in an attempt to soothe me. 

“I can’t … “ I said. “I can’t forget it … The trust … I should have trusted you.”

“Sweetheart, I love you. None of it matters.” Josh began kissing my face; his lips trailed across my tears.

“Please, Josh, I need to explain … “

“You’re not listening to me, are you?” Josh asked. “Okay, then maybe this will convince you.”

He continued the gentle kissing, moving down to my neck, suckling on my ear lobe. His hands roamed down my body, lightly tracing my ribs, finding their way down to my hips. I stopped trying to speak - *couldn’t* speak - as my senses awoke to the stimulus of Josh’s touch.

“I love you, Sam. I won’t ever stop,” Josh breathed.

My skin prickled with goose bumps as I felt Josh’s fingertips lightly graze the inside of my thigh.

“Josh … baby … oh, yes.”

My heart began thumping faster as Josh’s touch roamed until at last he found his ultimate destination. He took hold of me, gently at first, then with a skilled and practiced firmness. His sureness of touch, his familiarity with my body was as wonderful as ever as I felt myself grow in his hand. Skin against skin, the exquisite arousal was both physical and emotional. My tears continued to flow as my back arched, my hips moving to meet the increasing urgency of Josh’s hand gripping me. I became lost in the sensation, the sound of Josh’s voice urging me on, until my whole body stiffened and I screamed out his name, bucking wildly against the bed.

“There … there,” I heard Josh say, one hand gently stroking away my tears, the other continuing to enfold me as I softened. “You’re so beautiful when you come … so beautiful.”

“I love you.” My lips sought out Josh’s. His mouth was soft against mine as I teased him with my tongue. I kissed him slowly, imbuing it with all the tender feeling I possessed. “You know that, don’t you?”

Josh’s smile was glorious: warm, dazzling. “I know.”

We held each other tight, just lying there quietly, taking time to enjoy the moment, to bask in the pleasure of it all. The room was silent, save for our breathing. I raised my head, listened. A gust of air wafted through the open window. The world felt fresh, renewed. I pulled the sheet over our cooling bodies.

“The storm’s ended,” I said. 

“Yeah. Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Mm-hm.” I settled back into Josh’s arms, so loving, so caring. I stretched one arm across his body, rested my hand on the small of his back. I heard him sigh as I touched him there: nowadays it was one of his body’s most intimate, sensitive places.

I felt rested, safe.

The calm *after* the storm.

*** 

The next couple of weeks were a tad strange. I was a little too clingy, a little too protective of Josh; he was a little too careful around me, as if he was scared of saying or doing the wrong thing. But eventually our relationship settled back into its familiar, natural cadence as I began to accept that Josh would be safe if I turned my back on him for more than five minutes. By the same token, the old outspoken, candid Josh reappeared; most importantly, he accepted that I wouldn’t become bored, tired or turned off by spending time listening to the feelings and anxieties that he was still occasionally prey to. I knew how far we’d come when one night he shook me awake to tell me he’d had a recurrence of his “walking dream” (as we’d taken to calling it) and he lay in my arms, gently weeping, as I did my best to comfort him. It was then that I knew our relationship had attained a new degree of openness. I’d always thought we had an honesty between us that most couples would envy, but this was a whole new ballgame. In a funny sort of way, the things that we thought had driven a wedge between us – David Strachan, my involvement with the situation in Brazil – had paradoxically drawn us even closer.

And we had our weekend in New York. We saw the Stoppard play, followed by dinner in the Tavern on the Green amidst its romantic setting in Central Park, the trees strung through with lights that glowed like jewels. We visited a couple of museums and took a leisurely stroll through Greenwich Village. But the best part of all was shortly after our arrival at our hotel on the Friday evening. I emerged from the shower to hear Josh talking on the phone, telling David Strachan that thanks, but he’d have to give the documentary screening a miss. Hair still dripping wet and a towel hastily wrapped around my waist, I stood behind Josh as he explained that the weekend was all about me. As he finished the call, I bent down, enfolded him in my arms and … well, let’s just say we didn’t make our dinner reservation. In fact, we didn’t make it out of our hotel room at all that night. When we returned to DC late Sunday evening we felt like we were ready to face anything.

The next few months saw some return to normality, if that word can ever be used to describe life in the West Wing. That’s to say there were no camera crews interrupting our daily schedule and I finally abandoned any more ill-advised attempts to resolve the issue of those incarcerated in Brazil. Josh once more was immersed in the work to get the transport bill onto Congress’s legislative agenda for its first reading and Toby and I began the preparatory work for the next State of the Union speech. The events of that exceptionally hot, humid summer began, thankfully, to fade a little, that is until a DVD arrived from Megan Hamilton’s production company.

“It’s the advance copy of the documentary,” said CJ, dropping the disc onto Josh’s desk. “They want us to view it and sign off on it before they show it.” 

Josh picked up the disc, held it between thumb and forefinger, studying the label on the case.

“Who needs to see it?” he asked.

“You, the President, Communications, White House counsel.” CJ reeled off the list. “They’ve asked if we can get back to them in a week’s time.”

“They did realize they’re dealing with the leader of the free world when they imposed that deadline?” I asked from where I was standing behind Josh.

“Sam, it’s September and they’ve got a date in the TV schedules for late November. There might be some changes we ask them to make.”

Josh held out the DVD to CJ. “Fortunately the President’s got a light week. Co-ordinate his diary with everyone else who needs to be involved. Make sure Communications includes Toby *and* Sam.”

“No,” I said. “I’ll … I’ll watch it when it comes on TV.”

CJ looked puzzled but didn’t say anything.

“Sam?” asked Josh, turning round to look at me.

I put my hand on his shoulder. “I’d rather watch the finished article … see it as everyone else will see it. And I’d rather watch it in private.”

“Okay,” said CJ, “I’ll go organise a time when everyone else is available. Gotta say I can’t wait to see it, but if you’re sure … “

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Thanks, CJ,” said Josh, effectively ending the conversation.

“Right. Fine. I’ll get back to you.” CJ nodded and made for the door.

“Can you shut the door, CJ?” asked Josh.

“Sure.”

“Okay, what was that all about?” Josh asked as soon as she’d gone.

“What?” I walked round the desk to sit in the visitor’s chair.

“Look, I don’t want to turn this into a federal case but is this a personal thing about not wanting to watch the documentary? I mean, bearing in mind everything that’s happened?” 

I shook my head, leaned over to grab Josh’s hand. “No. No, it’s not got anything to do with how I feel … *felt* … about David Strachan. I’m passed that.”

“Then … “ Josh tilted his head to one side. “Why?”

“I *do* want to watch it, I just don’t want to see something that’s so personal to you being dissected and discussed before it gets official approval. I mean…” I paused for emphasis, “ … White House *counsel*?”

“Sam, you’re a lawyer and a politician, you know we’ve got to do this,” Josh said patiently.

I sighed. I knew Josh wouldn’t let this go until I’d told him everything. “Josh, I know they’ve used old footage from the campaign and the first few months in the White House. Then there’s the interview you gave … I just think I may get a little emotional watching it all.”

I bent my head, feeling more than a little foolish. 

“Oh, Sam.” Josh squeezed my hand. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even think of that. You understand I’ve got to vet the preview, don’t you? You know I’d rather just watch it with you?”

“Yeah, yeah I know,” I replied.

“But that’s what we’ll do when it’s on TV. Just you and me, then we can both get as emotional as we want to, yes?”

I raised my head, smiled. 

“Just you and me,” I agreed.

***

So that’s what we did. Despite the best attempts of our closest friends and colleagues to get us to watch the show in the West Wing when it was finally broadcast in November, Josh and I sat, just the two of us, fortified with beer and pizza, side by side on the couch as the opening titles appeared on the TV screen. Then it was into the montage that had been spliced together with images from the Bartlet for America campaign, the inauguration and various examples of the President and his staff in the year before Rosslyn. Prominent amongst them all was Josh: Josh standing beside the candidate as he worked a rope line; Josh on Capitol Beat; Josh as a member of the senior staff accompanying the newly-elected President. 

“Wow, look at me,” Josh said.

I put my arm around him, held him close. “I know, honey.” I swallowed hard, my eyes filling with hot tears.

“Yeah, I had so much hair,” came the reply.

I laughed, hoping it didn’t sound too much like the sob that had been threatening. 

Josh looked at me shrewdly. “I think this is more painful for you than it is for me.”

I turned my eyes back to the screen where a brief glimpse of the mayhem at the Newseum was being shown. “You’re still the same person Josh, none of that’s changed. But it still hurts to think about everything you’ve gone through.”

“Wait until you see the rest of the show, *then* you’ll see how much I’ve got to be thankful for.”

We watched as the program went on to show Josh doing his job post-Rosslyn. There was a brief scene in the Oval Office, Josh in a meeting that also gave a glimpse of Toby and me, then footage of Josh pushing himself into the Capitol to keep an appointment with the Speaker of the House of Representatives. 

“Oh, no,” I groaned as a couple of shots from the state dinner for Afonso filled the screen. I figured the memory of that night would always make me wince with embarrassment. Josh snuggled closer, laid his head on my shoulder.

“”Hey, you fixed it,” he said. He squeezed my hand. “No harm done. We got the trade agreement signed.”

“Yeah,” I sighed, turning my attention to the final frame of the montage that featured one of Josh’s regular meetings with staffers before making a seamless transition into the experiences of a young wife and mother who’d been paralysed in a car accident.

“So far so good?” asked Josh as I handed him another beer while the first commercial break played.

“Better than good,” I said. “It’s got all the human interest but it’s tough and realistic. Strachan’s done a great job.”

And he had. He’d filmed patients in the NRH, described the social and employment difficulties that disability can bring, yet at the same time highlighted the positive messages. Not just showing someone like Josh in such a high profile job, but the depiction of someone like Andrew who’d been paralysed from the neck down in a drive by shooting but was now holding down a college course.

“Josh, this is downright inspirational,” I commented.

“I know. I’ve had it easy.”

“Well I wouldn’t say that,” I started.

“Sam … “ Josh said threateningly.

“Okay, okay.” But privately I knew that despite all the help and support Josh had been fortunate enough to receive, his experience had been anything but easy.

We watched the rest of the program in silence. The final part returned to Josh’s story and consisted of the interview that he’d given to David Strachan. I had to admit he’d done a great job getting the best out of Josh. Josh’s responses were witty, informative and honest, sometimes painfully so. It was a fitting conclusion to a program that was a tour de force in documentary making.

“I’m so proud of you,” I said as the final credits rolled.

“It wasn’t bad, was it?” Josh said lightly.

“Not bad? Josh, don’t be so modest.” I wrapped my arms around him, hugged him. “You were fantastic.”

“My part was the easy bit. It’s the other people who took part who deserve the accolades.” 

“I know.” I drew back. “But you’ve helped to give them a voice.” 

“Maybe.” He shrugged. “I just hope the media focus is on them not me, because … “

That’s when the phone rang. It was Josh’s mother, but it was only the first of many calls that came in over the next hour or so, all of them warm in their praise of Josh’s appearance, his guts for taking part but most important to him was the impression made by the other participants. While Josh fielded all the calls I cleared up the remnants of our take out pizza, disposed of the beer bottles then sat flicking through a newspaper. Finally, he put the phone down.

“Well, I think they liked it,” he said with a grin. 

“You should phone David, tell him what a great film he made,” I said.

Josh gave me a searching look.

“I mean, I know you *will* call him, whatever I think, and so you should, but I just want you to know that I really love what he’s done.”

“I’ll call him tomorrow.”

Satisfied that I’d convinced Josh I had no problem acknowledging David Strachan’s skill, I settled down to hear him summarise the reactions to the documentary when the cell phone lying on the coffee table began to chirp. 

“Nooo!” Josh exclaimed before we both realized it was mine that was ringing. I picked it up. The display flashed up ‘Leo‘.

“Leo?” I was surprised. If anything was going on it would normally be Josh he’d call first.

“Hey, Sam. Did you watch the show?”

“Yeah. I thought it was amazing.”

“The kid did good, didn’t he?” Leo’s voice gave away the fact he was smiling.

“He’s a star, Leo.” I looked over at Josh. “He’s an absolute star.”

Josh frowned, mouthed ’Stop it’ and made a lunge for my phone. I jumped up and walked a few feet away from the couch to put myself out of his reach.

“Dirty pool, Sam,” grinned Josh as a well aimed cushion hit me in the head. Seeing Josh pick up another missile from the soft furnishings I dived out of the room as Leo began telling me he needed to speak with me about another, unrelated, matter.

“What’s up?” I asked, moving into the bedroom.

“I thought you’d like to know there’s a message just come through from State. The Brazilian government have agreed to release Graeme Vogel and Sarah Jakes, along with the tribes people … “

I dropped down onto the bed. “What?” I asked in disbelief.

“They’ll be released next week. Graeme and Sarah will be deported - they’ll be persona non grata in Brazil from now on, but I guess that’s the least of their worries. And the mining company have agreed to go into negotiations with the tribe to come to some arrangements about the land that hasn’t been touched yet.” He stopped. “Sam - you still there?”

“Yeah, I’m just … well, I guess I’m stunned. Leo I don’t know what to say. I know how I put you in a difficult position, so whatever you did to influence things … I can’t thank you enough.”

“It’s not me you should be thanking, Sam,” he replied.

“Oh. I just assumed … “

He didn‘t answer immediately, then I heard him sigh. “Look, Sam, he didn’t want you to know that he’d intervened, but I think … hell, he deserves a little credit here.”

“Who?”

“Josh.”

The words threw me for a loop momentarily. “Josh? You mean Josh did this?”

“He hated having to chew you out for speaking to Afonso, but that’s his job Sam. That day he traveled to Camp David he started making calls from his car and he’s been working behind the scenes ever since.”

“I didn’t know … “

“He’s called in a lot of favors for this, Sam, and now *he* owes a few more. I thought you should know.”

“Thanks, Leo.”

“I’m just glad it’s been resolved without hurting the administration. I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight.”

“’night, Leo.”

I sat for a few minutes reflecting on the news. I felt relieved and happy for all those held in that Brazilian jail, but alongside those emotions was the love and gratitude I had for Josh. I could hardly comprehend that he’d do something so momentous on my behalf. I wandered out of the bedroom grinning like an idiot, and pulled two more beers from the fridge.

Josh was now curled up on the couch watching some sports program. He gave me a sideways look as I came into the room.

“Everything okay with Leo?” he asked, turning his attention back to the TV.  
I sat down next to him, folded my legs up on the couch to mirror Josh’s own position. I passed him one of the beers, then clinked my bottle against his own.

“Leo had a call from State,” I began, looking for Josh’s reaction.

“What, he’s ringing you for advice on foreign policy now?” Josh gave me a quirky little smile, raised an eyebrow.

“The Brazilian government are releasing Graeme and Sarah *and* all the others from jail. *And* T and T Mining are going to negotiate over the land they haven‘t touched yet.”

Josh’s face lit up. “Hey, Sam, that’s fantastic. All your persistence has paid off.”

I didn’t say anything else, just sat and smiled at Josh.

“What?” he asked.

I leaned over, gave him a long, lingering kiss.

“You wanna go to bed?” he asked. “Celebrate your triumph, maybe?”

“In a minute.“ I pulled back, my smile disappearing as I thought about the significance of what Josh had done. I picked up the remote, turned off the TV. “I know, Josh. I know what you did.”

He could feign ignorance for only so long. After a few seconds he sighed, took a long swig of beer. “Leo told you?”

“He told me how you started working on it when you were driving to Camp David and how you’ve kept at it these past few months.” I moved closer, leaned my arm on the back of the couch, let my fingers play through Josh’s curls. “That you’d do that for me … baby, I can’t thank you enough.”

Josh made a derisory little sound. “I made a few calls … “

“I know it was more than that,” I said. “The fact is, calling in favors and using your contacts without jeopardising US relations with Brazil … Josh, I *know* how difficult it is finessing these sorts of deals. Not to mention that you were doing this alongside your day job.”

“Well, it was important to you, Sam.” Josh’s expression softened, his eyes locked with mine. “I’ll do anything to make you happy, sugar.”

“I know.”

Josh snuggled in next to me. He rested his head on my shoulder, his hair lightly brushing my cheek. I clasped one of his hands between both of mine.

“And I’ll always be here for you, Josh,” I said.

His reply came back, as rapid and certain as my own had been a few seconds ago.

“I know.”

We sat like that for a while, both of us lost in our own private thoughts. 

“It’s funny, isn’t it?” I said eventually. “A few months ago, you were about to meet David Strachan and I was planning what I could do about Graeme and the others. It nearly tore us apart, and yet here we are.”

“Things got a little rocky for a while back there, but I knew we’d be all right,” Josh said.

“It’s like … it’s like things have come full circle.”

“How do you mean?” Josh asked.

“Do you remember that Sunday night in July when we’d had the whole weekend at home? The time you got mad because Dr Bartlet and Leo conspired with me to get you to take time off?”

Josh went quiet as he thought about it, then sniggered. “Yeah … yeah, we’d spent most of the weekend in bed if my memory serves me well.” 

“And on the Sunday night you worked on the transport bill and I drafted a speech on civil liberties versus national security.”

“Sam, you have a freakishly retentive memory for such details, so okay, if you say so.” Josh lifted his head and began kissing me just underneath my ear. “Did I ever tell you what a gorgeous neck you’ve got?”

I managed to ignore how aroused I was starting to feel. “Well, that same week you met with Megan and David for the first time and I decided to meet up with the Vogels.” 

“U-huh,” said Josh, nipping my ear lobe lightly.

“And then we went through all that bad stuff … “ I began to squirm a little as Josh slid a hand up under my sweater, his fingers lightly tweaking a nipple. “Josh, that feels great, but I’m trying to … oh, sweet God in … “

“Okay, okay, but can you get to the point already?” asked Josh, extricating his hand from it’s position somewhere near the waistband of my jeans.

“That weekend I felt so perfectly happy, and now it feels like we’ve got it back. It’s like we went through all that anger and sadness, and yet we’ve come back to what’s real.”

“This is as real as it gets, Sam,” Josh said quietly.

“Love you, Josh.” I waited for the usual response.

“Love you more,” said Josh, not letting me down.

“You know, I really should find some way to thank you properly for taking on the US Department of State and the Brazilian government single handed.” I pressed Josh back against the couch so that he was lying down while I straddled him.

“Your appreciation is thanks enough,” said Josh, straight-faced. “But if you can think of something … maybe a fruit basket, a bottle of wine … “

“What about the finest muffins and bagels in all the land?” I asked, my hand roaming underneath Josh’s shirt, my fingers sketching tiny circles on his chest.

“You know, on second thoughts, as a government official I really shouldn‘t accept gifts for doing my job.“ Josh ‘s fingers made contact with front of my jeans; with practiced skill he pulled down the zip. “I’d have to declare anything that was bought and paid for.”

“How about something that doesn’t cost me anything?” I breathed as I unbuttoned his shirt, then leaned down to kiss the soft skin at the base of Josh’s throat before running my tongue along his collarbone.

“And yet something that’s priceless nevertheless,” Josh said with difficulty as his breath began to quicken.

Words finally deserted us as we let our mouths, hands and bodies do the talking. 

That night I thanked Josh on the couch in the living room.

I thanked me again in bed. Twice.

And again the next morning in the shower before we finally got to work.

When Josh entered the Oval Office for that morning’s meeting, he got a round of applause from the senior staff and a hand shake from the President.

“The Secretary of Labor would like to thank you personally, Josh, for making the documentary possible,” said President Bartlet as we settled down to that morning’s agenda.

“There’s really no need, sir, I’m glad it was such a success but I’d just like to move on now,” Josh replied. 

“And I’m sure our American citizens will want to thank you for your efforts on their behalf in Brazil,” CJ chipped in. “Not to mention Sam.”

“Oh, Sam’s already let me know how much he appreciates it.” Josh said without blinking an eye. 

I kept my head down, eyes focused on the briefing paper on some proposed health care reforms, my jaw clenched to stop myself from smiling. 

“Can we move this along a little?” Leo said briskly.

The rustling of papers that followed allowed me to relax a little. I looked up to see everyone else in the room perusing the first item on their agenda. All except Josh, that is. Instead, his eyes were focused on me, the expression in them one of unfathomable tenderness. I smiled, Josh responding with such a look of happiness that I almost forgot where I was.

“Sam? Can you summarize these proposals in terms of how they aim to improve child care?”

The wordless exchange between Josh and myself had lasted only a split second. Thankfully no-one else seemed to have noticed, so I moved in what I hoped was a seamless way into the summary that Leo asked for, and the rest of the meeting jogged along fairly uneventfully for the next forty-five minutes. When it finally broke up Josh tugged at my sleeve as he followed me into the corridor.

“Can I see you in my office, there’s a … uh … a thing I’d like to discuss.”

“Sure.” I started to walk alongside him when I became aware of Toby muttering in my ear.

“Make sure it is just five minutes, and don’t for one minute think I didn’t spot you two making eyes at each other in there.”

He hurried on his way, leaving Josh and I to reflect on the perils of allowing our personal lives encroach on the workings of the Oval Office.

“Shit,” I said.

“He’ll get over it,” Josh replied. “He’s just jealous.”

“What?” I almost yelped. “Jealous of who or what, exactly, because I’m not even going to put into words what sort of images that is now searing onto my brain.”

Josh pushed open the door into his office. “God, Sam, calm down. All I meant was he was jealous of seeing two people in a relationship that’s all.”

“Whatever.”

“Shut the door,” Josh ordered.

No sooner had I complied than he grabbed my arm, pulling me down to sit in his lap. 

“What … ?” 

I didn’t get any further because Josh’s hands were on either side of my face and he was kissing me so passionately that Toby would have had a seizure if he’d known what we were doing only a few yards away from the Oval Office.

“Josh … “ I was a little short of breath as our lips parted. “The way you looked at me in there … ah, babe … “

I leaned in and we kissed some more.

“Sam.” Josh was suddenly a little more serious. “I just realized when I told them in the Oval how much you appreciated what I did … “

I chuckled quietly. “Gotta say your poker face is much improved.”

“Yeah, well, it suddenly struck me that I don’t say half as often as I should how much *I* appreciate *you*.”

“I know how much you do,” I protested. “I don’t expect you to tell me.”

“But I should,” Josh said. He put his arms around me, held me close. “This summer … you were there for me the whole time and I was pushing you away because I was terrified that one day you’d get so tired that you’d want to cut and run. I should never have underestimated you that way.”

“It’s okay.” I relaxed into his embrace, felt Josh’s body next to mine. “But if you want to show your appreciation, well, maybe a fruit basket?”

I leaned back, saw Josh’s lips twitch into a sly grin. “Mmm, maybe.”

“Or what about a bottle of wine?” I asked.

“Not bad, but … “

“My God, Josh, surely you’re not suggesting the finest muffins and bagels in all the land?” I sighed as Josh began planting a series of delicate kisses on my cheek.

“Ooh, I’m sure I can do better than that,” he said, his hand running up my thigh. “Leave it with me, I’ll think of something.”

I checked my watch. We’d seriously overrun our allotted five minutes.

“Later?” I asked, giving Josh one last kiss and reluctantly disengaging his hand which now lingered far too near my groin for comfort.

I stood up, put my hand on the door handle.

“Later,” Josh said, raising an eyebrow in the suggestive way only he can do.

I pulled open the door, grinning as I made my way to my office. Because that night I was going to be on the receiving end of all that appreciation.

And as for Josh and me … well, this time I *knew* we were good. I couldn’t help smirking a little as I strolled towards my office.

It looked like that night there would be yet another meeting of the Josh Lyman-Sam Seaborn Appreciation Society.

THE END


End file.
